THE 


MEi^isriisra 


oi 


MOl^EDElISr 


ULI^TE 


GIFT   OF 


lOyci^U/Z/t  fw/.: 


THE      MEANING      OF 

MODERN  LIFE 


AS  SOUGHT  FOR  AND  INTERPRETED  IN  A  SERIES 
OF  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES  BY  THE  LEADERS 
OF    MODERN    THOUGHT    AND    MODERN    ACTION  :  :  : 


THIS  SERIES  HAS  BEEN  ARRANGED  IN 
SEQUENCE,  AND  EDITED  WITH  FORE- 
WORD,   INTRODUCTIONS  AND  NOTES  BY 


CHARLES  F.  HORNE,   Ph.D. 

Editor  of  "Great   Men   and  Famous    Women,^^  Editor  of  "  The  Story  of  the 

Greatest  Nations,^'  Co-Editor  of  "Great  Events  by  Famous  Historians,'''' 

Author    of   "History  of  France,'"     "History  of  Germany  and 

Austria,'"    "  The  Story  of  Our  Country,"    Etc. 


ISSUED 

UNDER 

THE       AUSPICES       OF 

THE 

NATIONAL 

ALUMNI 

UNION 

SQUARE 

NEW      YORK 

Copyright  igoy  by  The  National  Alumni 


CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME 


Lecture 

I.  THE   OUTLOOK 

The  Trend  oj  the  Century 
Seth  Low,  LL.D., 

Former  President  of  Columbia  University. 

11.  THE  DANGER 

Problems  To  Be  Met 
Theodore  Roosevelt,  LL.D., 
President  of  the  United  States. 

III.  THE  BELIEFS 

Religion,  Science,  and  Miracle 
Sir  Oliver  Lodge,  LL.D., 

President  University  of  Birmingham,  England. 

IV.  THE  SUCCESSES 

Five  American  Contributions  to  Civilization 
Charles  W.  Eliot,  LL.D., 

President  of  Harvard  University. 

V.  THE  BEGINNINGS 

The  Man  oj  the  Past 
E.  Kay  Robinson. 

VI.  THE   ORIGIN   OF  LIFE 

Its  Chemical  Creation  by  Science 
John  Butler  Burke,  M.A., 

Cambridge  University. 

VII.  THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

Morality  0}  Nature 

Prince  Peter  Alexievitch  Kropotkin. 

VIII.  THE   SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

Growth  of  Modern  Idea  of  Animals 
Countess  E.  Martinengo  Cesaresco. 

[3] 


41,1416 


CONTENTS 

Lecture 

IX.  THE  FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

Evolution  and  Marriage 

Alfred  R.  Wallace,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.,  F.R.S. 

X.  THE  LATEST  KNOWLEDGE 

Scientific  Investigation  and  Progress 
Ira  Remsen,  LL.D., 

President  of  Johns  Hopkins  University 

XL  OUR   COUNTRY 

The  Making  of  the  Nation 
WooDROW  Wilson,  LL.D., 

President  of  Princeton  University. 

XII.  PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS 

The  Duties  of  Good  Citizenship 

His  Eminence  James,  Cardinal  Gibbons, 

XIII.  AMBITION 

The  Conditions  of  Success 
Max  Nordau,  M.D.,         ^ 

President  of  Congress  of  Zionists. 

XIV.  OUR  PAST 

The  Lesson  of  the  Past 
Maurice  Maeterlinck.  ' 

XV.  ART 

The  What  and  the  How  in  Art 
William  Dean  Howells,  A.M.,  L.H.Di 

XVI.  ART  AND  MORALITY 

Their  Essential  Union  for  Culture 
Ferdinand  Brunetiere,  LL.D., 

Ex-President  of  L 'Academic  FranQaise. 

XVII.  WOMAN 

Marriage  Customs  and  Their  Moral  Value 

Elizabeth  Diack, 

William  S.  Lilly,  M.A.,  J.P., 

Secretary  of  the  Catholic  Society  of  Great  Britain. 

[4] 


CONTENTS 

XVIII.  UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

The  Essential  Equality  of  Man  and  Woman 
Frances  Cobbe, 
William  K.  Hill. 

XIX.  {SOCIETY 

The  Role  of  Women  in  Society 
Lady  Mary  Ponsonby. 

XX.  THE   CHILD 

The  Beginnings  of  the  Mind 
H.  G.  Wells,  B.Sc. 

XXI.  LIFE'S   INTERCOURSE 

Language  as  the  Interpreter  of  Life 
Benjamin  Ide  Wheeler,  LL.D., 

President  of  the  University  of  California. 

XXII.  THE  BOY 

His  Preparation  for  Manhood 
Daniel  Coit  Oilman,  LL.D., 

Former  President  of  Johns   Hopkins  University 
and  of  the  Carnegie  Institution. 

XXIII.  HOW  TO  THINK 

Edward  Everett  Hale,  LL.D., 

Chaplain  of  the  United  State^  Senate. 

XXIV.  THE  GIRL 

The  Thing  To  Do 
Whitelaw  Reid,  LL.D., 

Chancellor  of  the  University  of  the  State  of  New- 
York;  Ambassador  to  England. 

XXV.  MANHOOD 

Selection  of  One^s  Life-Work 

E.  Benjamin  Andrews,  LL.D., 

President  of  the  University  of  Nebraska, 

XXVI.  THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

The  College  Man  in  Business 
Charles  F.  Thwing,  LL.D., 

President  of  Western  Reserve  University. 

[s] 


CONTENTS 

Lecture 
XXVII.  SPORT 

The  Mission  of  Sport  and  Outdoor  Life 
Grover  Cleveland,  LL.D., 

Ex-President  of  the  United  States. 

XXVIII.  THE   TOILERS 

Labor  Organizations  in  America 

Carroll  D.  Wright,  LL.D., 

President  of  Clark  College;  former  Labor  Com- 
missioner of  the  United  States. 

XXIX.  THE  SOIL 

Land  and  Its  Ownership  in  the  Past 

Alfred  R.  Wallace,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.,  F.R.S., 

President  of  the  Land  Naturalization  Society. 

XXX.  ANARCHISM 

Thou  Shalt  Not  Kill 
Count  Leo  Tolstoi. 

XXXI.  WAR 

A  Demonstration  of  Its  Futility 
David  Starr  Jordan,  LL.D., 

President  of  Leland  Stanford  University ; 

Carl  Schurz,  LL.D., 

Former  United  States  Senator. 

XXXII.  ARBITRATION 

A  League  of  Peace 
Andrew  Carnegie,  LL.D., 

Lord  Rector  St.  Andrews  University. 

XXXIII.  HISTORY 

Value  of  History  in  the  Formation  of  Character 
Caroline  Hazard,  M.A.,  Litt.D., 

President  of  Wellesley  College. 

XXXIV.  THE  POWER   OF  RELIGION 

Religion  Still  the  Key  to  History 

Simeon  Eben  Baldwin,  LL.D., 

Former  President  American  Historical  Associa- 
tion, Professor  of  Constitutional  Law  at  Yale 
University. 

[6] 


CONTENTS 

Lecture 

XXXV.  CHRISTIANITY   AND   CIVILIZATION 

Social  Culture  in  Education  and  Religion 
William  T.  Harris,  LL.D., 

Former  United  States  Commissioner  of  Education. 

XXXVI.  THE  MYSTERIES 

What  Has  Psychic  Research  Accomplished? 
William  F.  Barrett,  F.R.S.,  J.P., 

Royal  College,  Dublin;    former  President  of  the 
Society  for  Psychical  Research. 

XXXVII.  HYPNOTISM 

Its  History,  Nature,  and  Use 
Harold  M.  Hays,  M.D., 

Mount  Sinai  Hospital. 

XXXVIII.   THE  WILL 

Its  Cultivation  and  Power 
Jules  Finot,  LL.D., 
Editor  of  the  Revue. 

XXXIX.  OUR  HOPE 

The  Unknown  God 

Sir  Henry  Thompson,  M.D. 

XL.  OUR  GOAL 

The  Making  of  a  National  Spirit 
Edwin  A.  Alderman.  LL.D., 

President  of  the  University  of  Virginia. 

Education  and  Democracy 

George  Harris,  LL.D., 

President  of  Amherst  College. 


[7] 


FOREWORD 


:m& 


TT/^HEN,  as  sometimes  happens,  a  tattered  manuscript  oj 
mediceval  times  is  resurrected  from  amid  jor gotten  rub- 
bish heaps,  scholars  hesitate  and  argue  as  to  the  century  oj  its 
production.  Accidental  outward  marks  may  guide  them  ;  but 
as  to  the  thought,  the  outlook,  the  opinions,  there  is  little  to  dis- 
criminate one  century  from  the  next,  or  the  next.  Mankind  did 
march  onward,  it  is  true,  but  with  such  slow  step  that  they  seemed 
often  to  be  merely  marking  time  without  advance.  The  unsolved 
problems  oj  one  generation  were  still  disputed  by  their  children's 
children. 

Now,  however,  we  move  at  railroad  speed.  The  problems 
oj  to-day  are  not  those  oj  two  decades  ago  ;  and  at  such  acceler- 
ating rate  do  we  rush  onward  that  soon  a  year  may  see  changes 
such  as  once  engrossed  a  century.  Nay,  so  swijtly  are  we  swept 
jace  to  jace  with  new  issues  that  the  dead  past  at  times  jor  gets 
to  bury  its  dead.  There  are  elderly  gentlemen  among  us,  held 
by  a  com  jor  table  income  in  some  eddy  oj  the  current,  who  still 
maintain  that  the  only  vital  issue  oj  to-day  is  England'' s  attitude 
towards  us  in  the  Civil  War  or  the  jact  that  Japan  began  her 
modern  career  under  our  tutelage  in  i8s4  • 

To  these  pleasantly  reminiscent  gentlemen,  charming  ajter- 
dinner  speakers,  interesting  relics  oj  an  extinct  age,  the  present 
series  oj  addresses  can  possess  little  interest,  except  jor  its  '^  new- 
ness,^^  the  radical  spirit  oj  its  thought.  But  to  more  active  brains, 
to  the  men  who,  in  office,  in  jactory,  or  in  field,  are  ^^ making  the 
nation  ^^  oj  to-day,  it  must  have  an  obvious  value.    Each  one 


FOREWORD 

oj  us  is  so  busy  in  his  own  life  that  he  cannot  keep  abreast  oj  the 
lives  oj  others.  A  well-known  literary  man,  a  twenty  years^ 
graduate  oj  my  college,  wrote  me  the  other  day  jor  a  copy  oj  the 
college  register.  By  mistake  a  clerk  jorwarded  him  instead  a 
pamphlet  containing  the  requisites  jor  admission  to  thejreshman 
class,  whereon  my  literary  jriend  wrote  back  to  me,  only  halj 
in  jest,  that  despite  my  vigorous  hint  he  must  abandon  any  idea 
oj  re-taking  his  college  course,  as  he  could  not  possibly  pass  the 
entrance  examinations. 

The  schools  oj  to-day  do  not  teach  what  was  taught  twenty 
years  ago.  Our  colleges  are  wholly  different  institutions.  The 
man  who  closed  his  scholastic  education  in  the  ^' eighties, ^^  per- 
haps even  in  the  "nineties,^'  and  went  out  into  lije,  his  brain 
awhirl  with  certain  problems  which  he  and  his  generation  must 
some  day  solve  perjorce,  that  man  is  surprised  now  by  stumbling, 
in  his  newspaper,  on  some  casual  rejerence  to  his  special  diffi- 
culty as  a  thing  done  with,  dismissed,  and  halj  jor  gotten.  He 
realizes  jor  a  moment  that  the  age  has  somehow  swept  along  with- 
out him,  that  progress  has  passed  him  by.  Then,  being  a  busy 
man,  he  turns  again  to  his  own  personal  problem,  with  perhaps 
only  a  halj-jormed  wish  that  he  had  kept  more  nearly  abreast 
oj  the  times,  a  halj-jormed  resolve  that  ^' some  day''^  he  will  ^^read 
up^^  again. 

To  that  man,  and  to  every  one  among  us  who  seeks  to  main- 
tain the  julness  oj  his  heritage  as  ''  heir  to  all  the  ages, "  is  offered 
the  present  series  oj  addresses.  They  give  the  most  recent  thought 
oil  each  vital  issue  oj  the  moment.  They  are  written  by  men  and 
women,  the  joremost  leaders  oj  the  battle.  Each  name  is  a  guaran- 
tee not  only  that  the  address  is  notable  and  worth  the  reading, 
hut  also  that  it  is  broadly  thoughtjul  and  deeply  true.  These 
are  no  hurried,  superficial  views,  held  to-day  to  be  dismissed 
to-morrow ;  they   are   the   meditated   opinions   oj   the   greatest 

I  [2] 


FOREWORD 

specialists.  Each  address  is  worth  incorporating  into  the 
reader^s  permanent  body  oj  thought,  his  outlook  upon  life. 

Several  oj  the  series  have  already  received  the  stamp  of  public 
approval.  They  have  been  delivered  as  recent  speeches,  some 
before  vast  audiences  oj  the  people,  others  before  learned  societies, 
small  bodies  of  the  selected  few.  Surely,  under  such  circum- 
stances if  ever, under  the  criticism  and  approval  of  his  fellow  men, 
restrained  from  exaggeration  by  the  sceptic's  smile,  stimulated 
to  passion  and  power  by  the  applause  of  all  whose  voiceless 
thoughts  he  has  nobly  interpreted  in  speech,  then  if  ever  does  a 
speaker  rise  above  his  hearers,  above  himself,  and  become  "in- 
spired.^'  Essays  of  inspiration  these,  and  needful  indeed  was 
it  that  their  earnest  words  should  not  perish  on  the  breeze  that 
caught  them,  but  should  be  here  preserved  in  print  and  given 
permanent  weight — heralded  to  a  wider  audience.  Others  of  the 
series  have  been  written  specially  for  this  occasion.  Others  again 
have  appeared  in  some  temporary  printed  shape,  and  are  now 
given  permanent  form.  These,  wherever  necessary,  have  been 
revised  by  the  author,  or  under  his  supervision,  for  the  present 
purpose. 

For  there  is  a  purpose,  an  ^^  increasing  pur  pose,'''  which 
runs  through  them  all.  They  are  not  a  hap- hazard  collection 
of  famous  speeches,  chance  thrown  together.  Their  themes  have 
been  laboriously  selected,  their  sequence  studied,  their  expression 
placed  in  the  hands  of  those  best  fitted  for  the  task.  Thus,  though 
each  author  speaks  upon  a  different  subject,  there  is  a  carefully 
outlined  harmony  runs  through  the  whole.  Here  is,  in  brief, 
not  many  books,  but  one  book.  Each  address  does  but  face  an- 
other aspect  of  the  same  great  riddle  and  gives  a  strong  man's 
reading  of  its  secret.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  series  may  be  found 
to  answer  better  than  any  one  volume  could,  better  than  any  one 
man  could,  the  question  that  faces  each  among  us,  the  question 

I  [3] 


FOREWORD 

suggested  by  the  title  as  to  the  meaning,  the  cause,  and  the  issue 
oj  the  lije  we  live. 

A  special  introduction  jar  this  opening  number  oj  the  series 
seems  scarcely  needful.  Seth  Low  is  so  widely  known  for  his 
long  and  honorable  career,  as  President  oj  Columbia  University 
during  its  period  oj  widest  development,  as  Mayor  oj  New  York 
in  days  oj  peculiar  stress  and  strain,  as  one  oj  the  joremost  citizens 
oj  our  land  in  every  moment  oj  need,  that  his  voice  must  every- 
where receive  attention,  his  views  command  respect.  This 
address,  delivered  by  him  bejore  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  oj 
Harvard,  was  published  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  is  here 
reproduced  by  the  kind  permission  oj  the  publishers,  ajter  being 
revised  under  Mr.  Low^s  supervision  jor  its  present  use.  It 
looks,  as  its  title  page  suggests,  over  the  general  field  oj  lije,  and 
indicates  briefly  the  general  character  oj  some  oj  the  problems 
which  the  ensuing  addresses  must  view  at  closer  range. 

Perhaps  he  who  will  go  step  by  step  with  our  authors  through 
each  one^s  thought  may  bejore  closing  with  the  last  find  himselj 
strengthened  to  give  his  own  answer  to  the  riddle.  He  may 
take  a  new  attitude  more  confident,  more  selj-assured  towards 
lije  itselj. 

C.  F.  H. 


[4] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

"  THE  TREND  OF  THE  CENTURY" 

BY 

SETH  LOW 

FORMER    PRESIDENT    OF    COLUMBIA    UNIVERSITY 


jVERY  century  has  its  own  characteristics. 
The  two  influences  which  made  the  nine- 
teenth century  what  it  was  seem  to  me  to 
be  the  scientific  spirit  and  the  democratic 
spirit.  Thus,  the  nineteenth  century,  sin- 
gularly enough,  was  the  great  interpreta- 
tive century  both  of  nature  and  of  the 
past,  and  at  the  same  time  the  century  of 
incessant  and  uprooting  change  in  all  that 
relates  to  the  current  Hfe  of  men.  It  was 
also  the  century  of  national  systems  of 
popular  education,  and  at  the  same  time 
of  nation-great  armies;  the  century  that  did  more  than  any 
other  to  scatter  men  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  to  con- 
centrate them  in  cities;  the  century  of  a  universal  suffrage  that 
is  based  upon  a  belief  in  the  inherent  value  of  the  individual; 
and  the  century  of  the  corporation  and  the  labor  union,  which 
in  the  dominion  of  capital  and  of  labor  threaten  to  obliterate 
the  individual.  I  want  to  trace,  if  I  can,  what  has  been  the 
trend  of  this  remarkable  century  in  the  domain  of  thought, 
of  society,  of  commerce,  of  industry,  and  of  politics.  Espe- 
cially I  want  to  do  this  as  it  concerns  life  in  the  United  States. 

I  speak  first  of  the  trend  of  thought;  for  thought,  imma- 
terial though  it  be,  is  the  matrix  that  shapes  the  issues  of  life. 
The  mind  has  been  active  in  all  fields  during  this  fruitful  cen- 
tury; but,  outside  of  poHtics,  it  is  to  science  that  we  must  look 

I  [5] 


^    '    '  ^   '^    THE  OUTLOOK 

for  the  thoughts  that  have  shaped  all  other  thinking.  When 
Von  Helmholtz  was  in  this  country,  a  few  years  ago,  he  said  that 
modern  science  was  born  when  men  ceased  to  summon  nature 
to  the  support  of  theories  already  formed,  and  instead  began 
to  question  nature  for  her  facts,  in  order  that  they  might  thus 
discover  the  laws  which  these  facts  reveal.  I  do  not  know 
that  it  would  be  easy  to  sum  up  the  scientific  method,  as  the 
phrase  runs,  in  simpler  words. 

It  would  not  be  correct  to  say  that  this  process  was  un- 
known before  the  past  century;  for  there  have  been  individual 
observers  and  students  of  nature  in  all  ages.  The  seed  idea 
is  to  be  found  at  least  as  far  back  as  the  time  of  Bacon,  not  to 
say  of  Aristotle.  But  it  is  true  that  only  within  the  last  cen- 
tury has  this  attitude  towards  nature  become  the  uniform  attitude 
of  men  of  science.  The  results  that  have  flowed  from  this  gen- 
eral attitude  towards  nature  have  been  so  wonderful  that  the 
same  method  has  been  employed  by  students  of  other  subjects, 
with  results  hardly  less  noteworthy.  To  this  attitude  towards  na- 
ture on  the  part  of  men  of  science  we  owe  the  great  advances  in 
our  knowledge  of  natural  law  which  the  century  has  witnessed ; 
and  from  this  increased  knowledge  of  natural  law  the  mani- 
fold inventions  have  come  that  have  changed  the  face  of  the 
world.  To  the  scientific  method  apphed  to  the  problems  of 
the  past  by  men  of  letters,  we  owe  our  ability  to  understand  the 
hieroglyphs  of  Egypt  and  the  cuneiform  inscriptions  of  Baby- 
lonia. 

One  of  the  chief  resuks  of  the  scientific  method  as  apphed 
to  nature  and  the  study  of  the  past  is  the  change  that  it  has 
wrought  in  the  philosophic  conception  of  nature  and  of  human 
society.  By  the  middle  of  the  century,  Darwin  had  given 
what  has  been  held  to  be  substantial  proof  of  the  theory  of 
the  development  of  higher  forms  out  of  lower  in  all  hving  things; 
and  since  then  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  not  as  a  body  of  exact 
teaching,  but  as  a  working  theory,  has  obtained  a  mastery 
over  the  minds  of  men  which  has  dominated  all  their  studies 
and  all  their  thinking.  The  consequences  of  the  doctrine 
have  been  very  different  in  different  fields  of  mental  activity. 
In  the  field  of  religious  thought  it  has  undoubtedly  been  a 

I  [6] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

source  of  very  serious  perplexity,  because  it  has  confronted 
men  with  the  necessity  of  reshaping  their  conceptions  of  the 
divine  method  of  creation  according  to  a  theory  exactly  the 
opposite  of  that  which  had  been  previously  held.  When 
Copernicus,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  began  to  teach  that  the 
earth  revolved  about  the  sun,  it  must  have  seemed  to  be  doc- 
trine that  disputed  the  most  evident  of  facts.  All  men  in  all 
ages  had  seen  the  sun  rise  in  the  east  and  set  in  the  west,  and 
therefore  the  new  doctrine  must  have  appeared,  at  first  sight, 
to  be  utterly  subversive  both  of  the  science  of  that  day  and  of 
the  religion  of  that  day.  The  men  of  science,  then  as  now, 
easily  accommodated  themselves  to  the  new  teaching  as  its 
truthfulness  became  clear,  despite  its  revolutionary  character; 
for  to  them  it  meant  only  a  fresh  start  along  a  more  promising 
road.  But  the  opposition  of  the  Church  reveals  the  agony  of 
mind  that  was  involved  for  the  Christian  behever  in  the  effort 
to  restkte  his  conception  of  man's  importance  in  the  sight  of 
God,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  newly  recognized  truth 
instead  of  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  old  error.  Still,  men 
were  able  to  do  this,  though  it  took  them  a  long  time  to  do  it. 
The  discovery  of  Copernicus  was  announced  in  1543;  yet  I 
read  the  other  day,  in  the  fife  of  Samuel  Johnson,  the  first 
president  of  King's  College  in  New  York  city,  that  it  was  by 
him  and  his  colleagues  of  Yale,  in  the  eafly  part  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  that  even  the  learned  people  of  Connecticut 
were  led  to  accept  the  Copernican  theory  of  the  universe  in- 
stead of  the  Ptolemaic.  Indeed,  so  late  as  the  first  Commence- 
ment of  King's  College,  in  1758,  one  of  the  students,  "in  a  clear 
and  concise  manner,  demonstrated  the  revolution  of  the  earth 
round  the  sun,  both  from  astronomical  observations  and  the 
theory  of  gravity,  and  defended  the  thesis  against  two  of  his 
classmates."  These  incidents  illustrate  happily  how  far 
America  was  from  Europe  in  those  days.  It  is  easy  to  believe, 
therefore,  that  the  evolutionary  conception  of  creation,  with 
its  subhme  suggestion  of  the  limitless  possibihties  of  endless 
development,  will  in  time  be  accepted  as  the  basis  of  men's 
rehgious  thinking  as  universally  as  religious  men  now  accept 
the  Copernican  system  of  the  universe.    In  the  mean  while, 

I  [7] 


THE   OUTLOOK 

it  should  be  a  source  of  comfort  to  every  man  whose  mind  has 
been  troubled  by  this  new  teaching  of  science  that,  in  this 
experience,  nothing  has  happened  to  him  which  has  not  hap- 
pened before;  and  it  may  be  observed  that  if  the  man  of  science 
has  thus  taught,  in  a  new  way,  that  man  is  aUied  to  the  beasts 
that  perish,  he  has  also  shown,  by  his  own  wide  reading  of 
natural  law,  that  man  is  capable  of  tracing  the  processes  of 
the  infinite,  thus  setting  the  seal  of  science  to  the  doctrine 
of  revelation,  that  man,  in  his  essence,  is  the  child  of  God. 

The  effect  of  the  scientific  method  and  of  the  doctrine  of 
evolution  upon  philosophy,  during  the  century,  has  been  to 
bring  the  philosopher  and  the  man  of  science  closer  together. 
In  ancient  times,  the  philosopher  was  in  his  own  person  a  man 
of  science;  that  is  to  say,  he  not  only  knew  all  of  the  science 
that  was  known,  but  he  was  himself  the  principal  agent  in 
advancing  man's  scientific  knowledge.  Through  the  cen- 
turies, as  man's  knowledge  of  nature  has  increased,  one  science 
after  another  has  been  set  aside  from  the  domain  of  philosophy, 
so  to  speak,  as  a  field  apart.  Thus,  astronomy,  physics,  and 
chemistry  have  long  been  recognized  as  independent  fields  of 
knowledge;  and  the  philosopher  has  left  it  to  the  astronomer, 
the  physicist,  and  the  chemist  to  enlarge  man's  knowledge  in 
those  fields.  During  the  nineteenth  century,  even  psychology 
has  become,  to  a  great  extent,  an  experimental  science,  so  that 
philosophy,  in  our  day,  has  come  to  concern  itself  once  more 
with  all  knowledge  rather  than  with  special  fields  of  knowl- 
edge. Accordingly  we  find  the  greatest  philosophers  basing 
their  philosophies  upon  the  widest  possible  survey  of  facts; 
and  the  greatest  scientists  turning  from  their  facts  to  account  for 
them,  as  they  may,  by  some  adequate  philosophy.  Thus,  the 
theory  of  evolution,  resting  as  it  does  upon  the  observed  facts 
of  nature,  has  come  to  dominate  the  philosophy  of  the  century 
no  less  than  its  science. 

In  the  domain  of  education  one  sees  the  same  philosophy 
at  work,  having  for  its  handmaid  the  democratic  tendency 
which  has  marked  the  poHtical  development  of  the  century. 
Every  public  educational  system  of  our  day,  broadly  speaking, 
is  the  child  of  the  nineteenth  century.      The  educational  system 

I  [8] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

of  Germany,  which  in  its  results  has  been  of  hardly  less  value 
to  mankind  than  to  Germany  itself,  dates  from  the  reconstitu- 
tion  of  the  German  universities  after  the  battle  of  Jena.  What- 
ever system  France  may  have  had  before  the  Revolution  went 
down  in  the  cataclysm  that  destroyed  the  ancient  regime,  so 
that  the  educational  system  of  France  also  dates  from  the  Napo- 
leonic period.  In  the  United  States,  while  the  seeds  of  the 
pubhc  school  system  may  have  been  planted  in  the  eighteenth, 
or  perhaps  even  in  the  seventeenth  century,  it  has  only  been  in 
the  nineteenth  century,  with  the  development  of  the  country, 
that  our  pubhc  school  system  has  grown  into  what  we  now  see; 
while  in  England,  the  system  of  national  education,  in  a  demo- 
cratic sense,  must  be  dated  from  1870.  This  attempt  on  the 
part  of  the  great  nations  to  provide  systematic  instruction  for 
the  people,  from  childhood  to  manhood,  from  the  elementary 
school  to  the  university,  reflects,  as  it  seems  to  me,  the  com- 
mingling of  the  two  great  tendencies  of  the  century,  the  demo- 
cratic and  the  evolutionary.  Out  of  the  growth  of  the  demo- 
cratic principle  has  come  the  belief  that  it  is  worth  while  to 
educate  all  the  children  of  the  state;  and  out  of  the  scientific 
method,  which  has  led  to  the  general  acceptance  of  the  evo- 
lutionary theory,  has  been  developed  the  advance  in  educational 
method  which  is  so  marked  a  feature  of  the  last  decades  of 
the  century.  Formerly,  it  was  satisfactory  to  educate  a  child 
according  to  some  preconceived  theory,  or  as  it  had  always 
been  done.  To-day,  the  best  systems  of  education  are  increas- 
ingly based  upon  the  laboratory  method,  and  upon  the  obser- 
vation of  facts  relating  to  childhood  and  youth.  The  new 
disciplines,  also,  are  freely  admitted  on  even  terms  with 
the  old. 

In  other  domains  of  knowledge,  such  as  history  and  litera- 
ture, the  application  of  the  scientific  method  has  resulted  not 
only  in  the  overthrow  of  many  of  our  preconceived  conceptions 
in  regard  to  the  past,  but  also  in  the  opening  up  of  vast  fields 
of  information  which  formerly  were  closed  to  the  seeker  after 
truth,  because  he  did  not  command  the  open  sesame  to  their 
treasures.  I  think,  therefore,  the  statement  is  justified  which 
I  made  at  the  beginning  of  this  address,  that  it  is  to  science 

I  [9] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

we  must  look  for  the  thoughts  which,  in  the  nineteenth  century, 
dominated  and  fructified  all  other  thinking.  The  illumination 
of  the  century  proceeded  from  that  source,  and  the  light  that 
has  been  shed,  especially  by  the  study  of  nature,  has  been 
carried  into  every  nook  and  corner  of  human  history  and  human 
life. 

But  the  consequences  of  the  general  scientific  attitude  tow- 
ards nature  which  was  characteristic  of  the  century  have  been 
twofold.  Not  only  has  the  scientific  method  furnished  a  phi- 
losophy of  nature  and  of  human  Hfe,  but,  by  the  great  increase 
in  man's  knowledge  of  natural  law  to  which  it  has  led,  it  has 
resulted  in  endless  inventions,  and  these,  in  turn,  have  changed 
the  face  of  the  world.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  catalogue  these 
inventions, — not  even  the  most  conspicuous  of  them.  I  rather 
wish  to  point  out  some  of  the  changes  in  the  Hfe  of  society  which 
have  been  caused  by  them.  One  of  the  most  noticeable  of. 
these  results  is  the  great  increase  in  the  number  and  size  oJ* 
cities.  What  the  elevator  is  to  the  high  building  the  railroad 
and  steamboat  are  to  the  city.  They  make  practicable  a  city 
such  as  without  them  could  not  be.  In  striking  contrast  with 
this  tendency  of  people  to  concentrate  in  cities,  we  observe, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  world-movement  of  people  which  has  been 
facilitated  by  the  same  inventions.  Man's  knowledge  of  the 
earth  that  he  inhabits  has  been  made  substantially  complete, 
and  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  the  islands  of  the  sea  have  been 
brought  into  rapid  and  easy  communication  with  the  centres 
of  the  world's  Hfe.  In  other  ages,  tribes  often  migrated  from 
one  part  of  the  world  to  another.  The  path  by  which  they 
went  was  stained  with  blood,  and  the  country  of  which  they 
took  possession  they  made  their  own  by  violence  and  conquest. 
But  in  the  past  century  miUions  of  people,  not  as  tribes,  but  as 
families  and  as  individuals,  migrated  peacefully  from  Europe  to 
America,  to  AustraHa,  to  Asia,  and  to  Africa.  This  world-wide 
movement  of  the  peoples  has  been  made  possible  only  by  the 
inventions  that  have,  on  the  other  hand,  built  up  the  cities; 
but  it  reflects,  also,  as  it  seems  to  me,  the  influence  of  the 
democratic  spirit  urging  men,  in  vast  numbers  and  upon 
their  own  responsibility,  always  to  seek  for  conditions  of  life 

I.  [10] 


THE   OUTLOOK 

in  which  they  may  enter  upon  Hfe's  struggle  less  handicapped 
by^the  past. 

The  rapid  march  of  invention  during  the  century  has  been 
coincident  with  one  far-reaching  and  progressive  change  in 
the  habits  of  society,  the  importance  of  which  is  seldom  recog- 
nized. I  refer  to  deposit  banking.  Of  all  the  agencies  that 
affected  the  world  in  the  nineteenth  century,  I  am  sometimes 
inclined  to  think  that  this  is  one  of  the  most  influential. 
If  deposit  banking  may  not  be  said  to  be  one  fruit  of  democracy, 
it  certainly  may  be  said  that  it  is  in  those  countries  in  which 
democracy  is  most  dominant  that  deposit  banking  thrives  best. 
One  of  the  first  banks  in  the  United  States  was  the  Bank  of 
Maryland,  opened  in  Baltimore  in  1790.  It  was  opened  for 
a  year  before  it  had  a  depositor.  Even  fifty  years  ago  the 
discussions  of  bankers  turned  mainly  upon  circulation.  Com- 
paratively Httle  attention  was  given  to  the  question  of  deposits. 
At  the  present  time  our  banks  are  comparatively  indifferent  to 
circulation ;  but  they  aim  to  secure  as  large  deposits  as  possible. 
Deposit  banking  does  for  the  funds  of  a  country  precisely  what 
mobilization  does  for  the  army  of  a  country  like  France.  Mo- 
bilization there  places  the  entire  manhood  of  the  country  in 
readiness  for  war.  Deposit  banking  keeps  every  dollar  of  the 
country  on  a  war-footing  all  the  time.  Some  one  has  said  that 
it  would  have  been  of  no  use  to  have  invented  the  railroad  at  an 
earlier  period  of  the  world's  history,  for  there  would  not  have 
been  enough  money  at  command  to  make  the  invention  avail- 
able before  this  modern  banking  system  had  made  its  appear- 
ance. If  this  be  so,  then  indeed  the  part  that  was  played  by 
deposit  banking  in  the  developments  of  the  century  cannot  be 
overestimated. 

During  the  century  the  conditions  of  the  world's  commerce 
radically  altered.  It  is  not  simply  that  the  steamboat  and  the 
locomotive  have  taken  the  place  of  the  sailing-ship  and  the 
horse;  that  the  submarine  cable  has  supplanted  the  mails; 
nor  even  that  these  agencies  have  led  to  such  improvements 
in  banking  facilities  that  foreign  commerce  is  done,  for  the 
most  part,  for  hardly  more  than  a  brokerage  upon  the  trans- 
action.    These  are   merely  accidents  of  the  situation.     The 

I  [II] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

fundamental  factors  have  been  the  opening  up  of  virgin  soli 
in  vast  areas  to  the  cultivation  of  man,  and  the  discovery  of 
how  to  create  artificial  cold,  vi^hich  makes  it  possible  to  trans- 
port for  long  distances  produce  that  only  a  few  years  ago  was 
classed  as  perishable.  The  net  result  of  these  influences  has 
been  to  produce  a  world- competition  at  every  point  of  the  globe, 
both  on  a  scale  never  before  known,  and  as  regards  articles 
that  have  been  heretofore  exempt  from  all  competition  except 
neighborhood  competition.  Thus,  not  only  has  it  become 
impossible  to  raise  wheat  profitably  in  England,  or  even  on  our 
own  Atlantic  coast,  but  the  price  of  such  an  article  as  butter, 
for  example,  is  fixed  in  the  State  of  New  York  by  what  it  costs 
to  produce  a  similar  grade  of  butter  in  Austraha.  Under  the  in- 
fluence of  these  changes,  the  merchant  of  the  early  part  of  the 
nineteenth  century  has  become  "as  extinct  as  the  mastodon." 

But  if  these  changes  have  introduced  new  and  strange 
problems  for  the  merchant,  they  have  also  presented  to  the 
statesman  problems  of  no  less  difficulty.  In  the  first  half  of 
the  century,  China  was  the  great  source  of  supply  for  both  tea 
and  silk.  At  the  present  time  more  than  half  of  the  tea  con- 
sumed in  England  comes  from  India  and  Ceylon,  and  more 
than  three-quarters  of  the  tea  consumed  in  the  United  States 
comes  from  the  island  of  Formosa  and  from  Japan.  Even  in 
silk  China  has  largely  lost  her  market  to  Japan  and  Europe. 
Who  shall  say  that  this  gradual  destruction  of  China's  export 
trade  has  not  had  much  to  do  with  bringing  the  ancient  empire 
to  the  point  where  it  seems  about  to  be  broken  up?  The  out- 
flow from  the  old  empire  is  not  sufficient  to  stem  the  inflow; 
and  the  aggressive  commerce  of  the  outside  world  appears  to 
be  ready  to  break  down  the  ancient  barriers  and  overflow  the 
country,  whether  it  will  or  no. 

This  unification  of  the  world,  and  its  reduction  in  size  from 
the  point  of  view  of  commerce,  reveal  some  tendencies  that  are 
full  of  interest.  The  general  tendency  to  protection  was  the 
first  answer  of  the  statesman  and  of  the  nations  to  the  pressure 
of  competition  from  new  quarters.  It  represented  an  effort 
to  make  the  terms  of  the  world  competition  between  young 
countries  and  old,  between  old  countries  and  new,  somewhat 

I  [12] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

more  even.  The  remarkable  exception  to  this  tendency  pre- 
sented by  Great  Britain  reflects  the  exceptional  situation  of 
Great  Britain  among  the  nations.  Her  home  domain  is  too 
small  to  furnish  occupation  for  either  her  men  or  her  money, 
and  therefore  the  people  of  the  little  island  have  swarmed  all 
over  the  world.  As  a  consequence,  Great  Britain's  commercial 
poHcy,  is  in  a  sense,  a  world-poHcy;  but  it  is  noticeable  that  the 
other  great  nations,  whether  young  or  old,  being  obliged  to 
frame  their  policy  from  a  different  point  of  view,  have  hitherto 
reHed,  with  few  if  any  exceptions,  upon  protection  to  equalize 
the  terms  of  the  competition.  Now,  however,  a  second  ten- 
dency appears  to  be  discernible.  If  protection  represents  the 
attempt  of  a  nation  to  hold  itself  aloof,  to  some  extent,  from 
the  competition  of  the  world,  the  tendency  of  the  aggressive 
nations  of  Europe  to  divide  up  among  themselves  the  unde- 
veloped portions  of  the  earth,  and  even  the  territory  of  weaker 
nations,  seems  to  me  to  represent  a  growing  conviction  that  the 
policy  of  protection,  from  its  nature,  must  be  a  temporary  one, 
and  also  to  reveal  a  dimly  recognized  behef  that  the  true  way 
for  the  old  countries  to  contend  with  the  semicivilized,  in  the 
long  run,  is  to  raise  the  standard  of  living  in  the  less  advanced 
countries,  so  that  the  semicivilized  shall  not  be  able  to  drag 
the  most  highly  developed  peoples  down  to  their  own  level. 
That  is  to  say,  if  the  first  response  of  the  civihzed  nations  to 
the  world  competition  to  which  I  have  referred  has  been  the 
attempt  to  Hmit  its  unwelcome  effects  by  the  erection  of  artificial 
barriers  at  every  custom-house,  the  second  response  seems 
likely  to  come  in  the  effort  of  the  strong  nations  to  dominate 
the  weak, — not  for  their  destruction,  but  for  their  uplifting. 
In  other  words,  civilization,  being  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
competition  of  the  uncivihzed,  appears  to  behevc  that  the 
best  way  to  preserve  its  own  integrity  is  to  introduce  the  con- 
ditions of  civiHzation  everywhere.  If  this  be  a  correct  diag- 
nosis of  the  recent  developments  of  foreign  policy  on  the  part 
of  several  of  the  great  nations,  it  indicates  a  disposition  to 
secure  protection  in  the  future  by  aggressive  rather  than  by 
defensive  action  as  heretofore.  I  am  not  discussing  the  merits 
of  the  case,  but  only  trying  to  point  out  the  possible  significance 

I  [13] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

of  movements  that  arc  likely  to  have  no  Httle  influence  on  the 
future. 

But  we  should  lose  sight  of  one  of  the  most  important  fac- 
tors that  have  been  at  work  in  producing  these  results,  and 
in  changing  the  Hfe  of  men,  if  we  did  not  consider  for  a  moment 
the  influence  of  invention  in  the  great  domain  of  industry. 
In  its  relation  to  agriculture  this  influence  appears  in  three 
forms:  there  has  been  a  much  more  intelligent  application  of 
chemistry  to  the  cultivation  of  the  soil;  steam-power  has  been 
very  largely  substituted  for  hand-power;  and  the  railroad  has 
made  accessible  vast  areas  of  country  which,  in  any  previous 
age  of  the  world,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  cultivate 
profitably.  In  the  substitution  of  machinery  for  hand-power 
in  the  domain  of  manufacture,  two  incidental  results  have 
proved  of  far-reaching  importance,  although  neither  was  neces- 
sarily involved  in  the  substitution  of  the  machine  for  the  hand. 
I  refer,  first,  to  the  division  of  labor,  and  second,  to  the  inter- 
changeabihty  of  parts  in  many  standard  manufactured  articles. 
It  has  added  enormously  to  the  productiveness  of  a  factory 
to  divide  the  labor  employed  according  to  the  processes.  By 
this  means  the  labor  becomes  more  expert,  the  product  is  in- 
creased, and  the  quality  is  improved.  It  is  true  that  the  action 
of  the  laborer  thereby  becomes  also,  to  a  great  extent,  auto- 
matic; but  so  does  the  execution  of  the  skilled  musician,  as 
the  result  of  his  practice  and  his  skill.  Does  this  automatic 
character  of  the  occupation  tend  to  the  belitthng  or  the  enlarge- 
ment of  the  minds  of  the  working-men?  It  is  probable  that 
the  mind  of  a  laborer,  thus  largely  set  free  during  his  hours  of 
toil,  is  at  work  quite  as  busily  as  before,  and  in  ways  that  make 
him  more  than  ever  an  active  factor  in  the  world's  Hfe.  The 
practice  of  making  interchangeable  parts  in  many  manufactured 
articles  has  also  added  greatly  to  the  convenience  and  avail- 
ability of  such  articles.  The  standardizing  of  the  threads  of 
screws,  the  sizes  of  bolts,  and  the  like,  adds  beyond  measure 
to  the  effectiveness  of  manufacture  and  to  the  convenience  of 
industry.  But  it  is  a  superficial  view  of  these  things  to  sup- 
pose that  their  effect  is  exhausted  in  a  tendency  to  cheapen 
products  and  to  improve  industrial  opportunity.     It  is  evident 

I  [14] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

that  division  of  labor  is  permanently  possible  under  freedom 
only  in  communities  the  members  of  which  are  animated  by 
mutual  trustfulness  and  mutual  respect.  Interchangeable  parts 
are  of  value  only  when  men  trade  continually  with  one  another. 
They  involve  a  recognition  of  the  advantage  to  be  had  by  con- 
sidering the  general  welfare  rather  than  simply  one's  own  con- 
venience. That  is  to  say,  both  of  these  things  reveal  and  em- 
phasize the  tendency  to  democracy  in  industry,  which  seems 
to  me  as  marked  a  feature  of  our  times  as  the  tendency  to  de- 
mocracy in  the  pohtical  Hfe  of  men.  In  other  words,  industry 
rests  more  and  more  completely  upon  the  mutual  interdepen- 
dence of  the  masses  of  mankind. 

Other  changes,  less  material,  took,  place  in  the  commercial 
and  industrial  world  during  this  same  great  century.  The 
wage  system  became  universal,  and  the  corporation  and  the 
trade  union  became  dominant  in  many  branches  of  industry 
and  commerce.  Commodore  Vanderbilt  laid  the  foundation 
of  his  fortune  by  operating  a  sniall  boat  on  a  ferry.  The  busi- 
ness of  transportation  grew  under  his  hands  to  such  an  extent 
that  even  so  exceptionally  able  a  man  as  he  could  not  control 
it  in  his  own  person.  Under  the  form  of  a  corporation,  he  was 
obliged  to  associate  with  himself  many  others,  in  order  to  carry 
on  the  immense  business  which  he  developed.  The  corpora- 
tion in  this  aspect,  therefore,  is  democratic,  resting  as  it  does 
upon  the  substitution  of  the  ownership  of  many  for  the  owner- 
ship of  one.  It  may,  indeed,  be  said  that  the  corporation  is 
oHgarchic  rather  than  democratic;  but  the  ohgarchic  tendency 
in  society  made  corporations  even  for  general  business  pur- 
poses that  rested  upon  exclusive  privilege.  The  corporations 
of  our  day  seem  to  me  democratic,  except  as  they  control  ex- 
clusive public  franchises,  in  that  they  are  open  to  all,  and  must 
compete  with  all.  A  sailing-ship  used  to  cost  comparatively 
little,  and  many  an  individual  could  afford  to  have  one  or  two 
or  a  small  fleet  of  them.  The  modern  steamship,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  exceedingly  costly;  and  there  would  be  few  of  them 
indeed  if  there  were  no  more  than  could  be  owned  by  individ- 
uals. But  just  as  in  pohtical  democracy  there  is  a  tendency 
on  the  part  of  the  many  blindly  to  follow  one,  so  in  corporations 

I  [15] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

one  man  is  apt  to  determine  the  efliciency  or  inefficiency  of  the 
corporation.  Similarly,  in  the  trade  union  and  other  organ- 
izations of  labor,  the  organizations  which  are  most  capably  led 
are  the  most  effective. 

The  corporation  and  the  trade  union  interest  me  especially 
from  another  point  of  view,  because  of  the  strange  contrast 
they  present  to  the  democratic  tendencies  of  the  times.  De- 
mocracy, as  a  political  theory,  emphasizes  the  equahty  of  men 
and  the  equal  rights  and  privileges  of  all  men  before 
the  law.  The  tendency  of  it  has  been,  in  this  country, 
to  develop  in  multitudes  of  men  great  individuahty  and  self- 
rchance.  Side  by  side  with  this  tendency,  however,  we  see 
the  corporation  supplanting  the  individual  capitaKst,  and  the 
trade  union  obhterating  the  individual  laborer,  as  direct  agents 
in  the  work  of  the  world.  Strange  as  this  contrast  is,  both 
tendencies  must  be  consistent  with  democracy,  for  the  corpora- 
tion and  the  trade  union  flourish  most  where  democracy  is 
most  developed.  Indeed,  they  seem  to  be  successful  and 
powerful  just  because  democracy  pours  into  them  both  its  vital 
strength.  The  criticisms  that  are  justly  enough  launched 
against  both  probably  spring  largely  from  the  fact  that,  by 
reason  of  the  rapidity  of  their  development,  men  have  not  yet 
learned  how  to  control  them  so  as  to  secure  the  maximum  of 
benefit  and  the  minimum  of  abuse. 

In  this  country,  I  suppose,  there  are  few  who  would  deny 
that  the  corporate  form  of  doing  business  is  not  only  inevitable 
but  on  the  whole  advantageous.  At  the  same  time,  the  opinion 
undoubtedly  would  be  almost  as  universal  that  the  abuses  in 
corporate  management  confront  the  country  with  some  of  the 
most  serious  problems  that  He  before  it.  The  impersonality 
of  the  corporation  lends  itself  readily  to  many  abuses  from  which 
the  sense  of  personal  responsibihty  saves  individual  men.  The 
corporation,  being  a  creature  of  legislation,  as  it  has  gradually 
acquired  control  of  more  and  more  of  the  field  of  business, 
has  brought  all  business  into  relation  with  the  legislator,  which 
is  as  unfortunate  as  possible.  When  business  was  in  private 
control,  legislators  interfered  comparatively  httle,  because  those 
who  conducted  the  business  had  votes.     Corporations,  how- 

I  [i6] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

ever,  have  no  votes,  but  they  have  money;  and  it  is  not  exag- 
geration to  say  that  the  people  fear,  if  they  do  not  beheve,  that 
the  money  of  the  corporations  is  often  more  influential  in  shaping 
legislation  than  are  the  votes  of  the  people.     The  statement  of 
a  railroad  magnate,  that  in  Republican  counties  he  was  a 
Republican,  and  in  Democratic  counties  he  was  a  Democrat, 
but  that  everywhere  he  was  for  the  railroad,  was  the  cynical 
admission  of  an  attitude  easily  understood,  but  none  the  less 
dangerous.     When  one  tries  to  devise  remedies  for  the  evident 
dangers  of  the  situation,  it  is  not  easy  to  be  precise.     It  is  pos- 
sible, I  think,  to  indicate  some  directions  in  which  to  look  for 
improvement,  so  far  as  improvement  is  possible  outside  of  higher 
standards   of    public   virtue.     The   fundamental   evil   in   the 
corporate  form  of  management,  undoubtedly,  is  the  loss  of 
personal   responsibihty.     It    is    a    common    remark    that    as 
directors  men  will  do  things  which  as  individuals  they  would 
not  think  of  doing.     Indeed,  the  evil  lies  deeper  than  this. 
Because  they  are  directors,  and  therefore,  as  they  say,  trustees 
for  others,  they  feel  constrained  to  do  for  the  benefit  of  the 
stockholders  what  as  individuals  they  abhor.     This  reasoning 
may  well  be  considered  fallacious,  but  that  it  is  very  influential 
in  detertnining  the  action  of   corporate  directors  cannot  be 
questioned.     The  remedy  for  this  loss  of  personal  responsi- 
bility, so  far  as  there  is  any  remedy  by  legislation,  must  come 
from  publicity.     When  the  legislature  grants  the  impersonal 
form  for  the  conduct  of  business,  and  grants,  in  addition,  a 
limited  liability,  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not,  at  the  same 
time,  demand  that  all  of  the  operations  of  this  artificial  person 
— or  perhaps  I  ought  to  say,  of  this  combination  of  natural  and 
privileged  persons — should  be  matters  of  public  record.     Theo- 
retically I  cannot  believe  that  there  is  any  reason  why  the  de- 
mand for  publicity  in  relation  to  the  actions  of  corporations 
should  not  be  carried  to  any  detail  to  which  it  may  be  necessary 
to  carry  it  in  order  to  secure  the  result  of  absolute  honesty  as 
towards  stockholders,  creditors,  and  the  pubHc.     It  should  be 
observed,  perhaps,  that  corporations  naturally  divide  them- 
selves into  two  classes, — those  which  exercise,  by  virtue  of  a 
public    franchise,    quasi-governmental    functions,    and    those 

1—2  [17] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

which  conduct  purely  private  business.  I  think  the  same  rule 
of  publicity,  as  a  general  principle,  should  apply  to  both  kinds 
of  corporations;  but  it  is  evident  that  pubHcity  may  have  to  be 
carried  much  farther  in  regard  to  the  first  kind  than  in  regard 
to  the  second. 

I  think  there  is  one  other  direction  in  which  corporations 
can  be  further  controlled  to  the  public  advantage.  In  many  of 
the  States,  already,  it  is  impossible  to  organize  a  corporation 
without  paying  in  the  capital  in  cash.  If  this  requirement 
could  be  extended  so  as  to  demand  that  neither  stock  nor  bonds 
should  be  issued  except  for  a  cash  equivalent,  it  would  strike 
at  the  root  of  one  of  the  evils  incident  to  corporate  management 
which  has  done  much  to  arouse  against  corporations  popular 
indignation.  I  do  not  know  why  the  law  might  not  require, 
where  stocks  or  bonds  are  to  be  issued  as  the  equivalent  of 
invested  property,  patents,  good-will,  and  the  like,  that  the 
valuation  upon  which  such  issues  may  be  made  should  be  fixed 
by  pubhc  authority.  The  corporation  that  means  to  serve  the 
public  honestly  and  fairly  is  not  Hkely  to  object  to  being  required 
to  have  assets  of  full  value  for  all  the  securities  which  it  offers 
to  the  public.  It  is  the  corporation  which  wishes  to  make 
money  out  of  the  pubhc  dishonestly  that  aims  to  float  all  manner 
of  securities  that  have  no  value  at  all,  or  only  a  nominal  value. 
I  beheve  it  to  be  a  righteous  demand  that  the  laws  regulating 
corporations  should  protect  the  public  much  more  adequately 
than  they  do  now  against  such  frauds. 

But  while  it  is  evident  that  the  corporate  form  of  conducting 
business  has  been  of  wide  benefit  to  mankind,  despite  the  abuses 
that  have  attached  to  it,  there  may  not  be  such  general  admission 
of  the  truth  that  the  trade  union  and  the  labor  organizations 
have  been  equally  beneficial.  It  is  sometimes  said  that  labor 
organizes  because  capital  does,  and  that  it  is  obliged  to  do  so  in 
self-defence.  I  am  far  from  saying  that  there  is  no  truth  in 
this  statement,  but  I  think  that  it  is  only  a  partial  statement  of 
the  truth.  Labor  organizes,  primarily,  not  simply  to  contend 
against  capital  and  for  self-defence,  but  for  precisely  the  same 
reason  that  capital  does;  that  is,  for  its  own  advantage.  It 
organizes  in  response  to  a  tendency  of  the  times  which  labor 
I  [i8] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

can  resist  no  more  than  capital.  It  is  the  recognition  by  labor 
of  the  vision  of  the  poet,  that  "the  individual  withers,  and  the 
world  is  more  and  more."  It  may  not  be  denied  that  organized 
labor  has  often  been  cruel  in  its  attitude  to  laboring-men  who 
wish  to  work  upon  an  individual  basis;  but  it  cannot  be  justly 
said  that  it  is  more  cruel  than  organized  capital  has  been  in  its 
own  field.  The  individual  competitor  has  been  removed  from 
the  pathway  of  the  trust  as  remorselessly  as  the  individual 
laborer  has  been  deprived  of  work  by  the  labor  organization. 
Indeed,  I  think  it  may  be  said  that  there  is  no  fault  that  can  be 
charged  against  organized  labor  which  may  not  be  charged  with 
equal  truth  against  organized  capital.  The  forms  in  which 
these  faults  exhibit  themselves,  from  the  nature  of  the  case, 
are  different ;  but  in  both  instances  the  faults  are  the  same.  In 
the  mean  while,  one  has  only  to  consider  the  protectionist 
policy  of  nations,  in  order  to  be  able  to  understand  the  pro- 
tectionist poHcy  of  the  trade  unions.  No  laboring-man  can 
tell  at  what  moment  a  new  invention  will  appear  which  will 
deprive  him  of  his  livelihood.  It  is  inevitable,  at  such  a  time, 
that  men  should  draw  together,  and  present  a  common  front 
to  the  problems  of  Hfe,  rather  than  attempt  to  contend  with 
them  as  individual  atoms.  It  is  evident,  also,  that  in  many 
directions  the  trade  union  has  improved  the  condition  of  the 
laboring-man,  looked  at  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  mass.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  true  line  of  development,  instead  of  an- 
tagonizing the  organization  of  labor,  is  to  endeavor  to  make  it 
responsible,  so  as  to  substitute  for  the  irresponsibility  of  the 
single  laborer  the  adequate  responsibility  of  the  great  body  of 
laborers.  I  have  been  told  that  in  the  most  progressive  labor 
unions  of  England,  where  the  question  is  an  older  one  than  it 
is  here,  the  aim  of  the  union  is  to  determine  by  joint  action 
and  by  agreement  with  the  employers  the  conditions  under 
which  the  trade  shall  be  carried  on,  while  the  tendency  is  to  be 
indifferent  whether  the  person  employed  is  in  the  union  or  out 
of  the  union,  provided  that  the  standard  regulations  thus  estab- 
lished for  the  trade  are  observed  upon  both  sides.  Under 
such  a  policy  the  war  of  the  union  is  waged  against  inequitable 
conditions  of  life,   and  not  against  individual  laborers  who 

I  [19] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

happen  to  be  outside  of  the  union.  It  is  easy  to  understand 
that  the  employer  would  prefer  to  have  all  such  matters  entirely 
under  his  own  control;  but  it  is  probably  true  that,  under  the 
complex  conditions  of  modern  life,  this  is  no  longer  absolutely 
possible  anywhere;  and  it  is  also  probably  true  that,  by  a  general 
recognition  of  this  circumstance,  the  standard  of  living  may  be 
raised  in  any  community,  to  the  great  benefit  of  all  concerned. 

The  tendency  to  democracy  in  poHtics  was  unquestionably 
the  dominant  pohtical  fact  of  the  century.  Not  to  attempt  to 
trace  the  operation  of  this  tendency  everywhere,  it  seemed  to 
show  itself  not  only  in  the  wide  extension  of  the  suffrage  in 
such  countries  as  England  and  the  United  States,  but  also  in 
the  nation-wide  army  of  Germany.  It  is  true  that  there  is 
little  enough  of  the  free  spirit  of  democracy  in  a  military  system 
like  that  of  Germany.  On  the  other  hand,  the  universal 
suffrage  existing  in  Germany  for  the  election  of  members  of 
the  Reichstag,  and  the  universal  demand  of  the  state  for  miU- 
tary  service  from  all  its  people,  are  both  of  them  instances  of 
the  use  of  the  democratic  spirit  of  the  times  in  the  service  of  a 
different  polity.  In  other  words,  outside  of  Russia,  and 
possibly  even  there,  monarchical  government  in  Europe  is  obliged 
to  depend  for  its  support  upon  the  great  body  of  the  nation, 
instead  of  upon  the  power  of  the  great  and  the  noble.  In  Eng- 
land the  monarchy,  although  it  retains  the  forms  and  expressions 
of  power  that  were  natural  in  the  time  of  the  Tudors,  has  be- 
come so  responsive  to  the  demands  of  the  democracy  as  to  give, 
in  effect,  a  democratic  government.  In  the  United  States  the 
century,  though  it  began  with  a  Hmited  suffrage,  ends  with 
universal  manhood  suffrage,  and  even  with  woman  suffrage 
in  some  of  the  Western  States.  There  is  one  essential  differ- 
ence, however,  which  ought  never  to  be  forgotten,  between 
the  democracy  of  the  United  States  and  the  democracy  of 
England.  The  struggle  of  democracy  in  England  for  cen- 
turies has  been  to  convert  a  government  of  privilege  into  a 
modern  democracy.  This  implies  an  hereditary  disposition  on 
the  part  of  the  great  body  of  the  people  to  look  up  to  men  of 
education  and  position  as  natural  leaders — a  tendency  which 
still  remains  to  temper  very  importantly  all  the  activities  of 
I  [20] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

English  public  life.  In  the  United  States  there  is  no  such 
tendency.  Hence  the  problem  of  democracy  here  is  to  learn 
how  to  educate  itself  to  higher  standards,  and  therefore  to  the 
attainment  of  better  results.  In  other  words,  democracy  in  the 
United  States  is  building  on  hard-pan,  and  every  advance 
gained  is  an  advance  that  raises  the  education  of  the  whole 
people  up  to  a  higher  level.  Undoubtedly,  universal  suffrage 
and  the  large  immigration  of  people  without  any  experience  in 
self-government  have  given  form  to  many  of  our  problems; 
but  I  often  think  there  is  far  too  great  a  disposition  among  us 
to  magnify  the  difficulties  which  these  conditions  present.  If 
all  our  failures  be  admitted,  whatever  they  are,  the  history  of 
the  United  States  is  certainly  a  marvellous  one.  Surely  it  is 
bad  philosophy  to  assume  that  our  history  is  what  it  is  in  despite 
of,  and  not  because  of,  our  democracy.  It  is  a  notable  fact 
that  hardly  an  immigrant  who  remains  in  this  country  long 
enough  to  become  a  citizen  is  willing  to  return  to  live  in  his 
own  home.  This  is  a  striking  testimony  to  the  fact  that,  what- 
ever our  shortcomings,  the  average  conditions  of  life  are  freer 
and  happier  here  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  And  our 
institutions  have  certainly  sufficed  to  produce  people  of  the 
very  highest  average  of  intelligence. 

The  fact  is,  in  my  judgment,  that  our  problems  arise  not 
so  much  from  universal  suffrage  as  from  the  effect  of  the  multi- 
plication table  applied  to  all  the  problems  of  Hfe.  I  recollect 
that  Mr.  James  Bryce,  when  in  this  country  a  few  years  ago, 
delivered  an  interesting  lecture  which  he  entitled  "An  Age  of 
Discontent."  In  the  lecture  he  pointed  out  that  during  the 
early  part  of  this  century  the  great  desire  of  men  was  for  political 
liberty.  But  when  political  hberty  had  been  obtained,  he  said, 
instead  of  ushering  in  an  epoch  of  universal  good-will,  it  had 
brought  with  it  apparently  only  universal  discontent.  Allowing 
the  statement  to  pass  unchallenged,  I  should  be  incHned  to 
say,  first  of  all,  if  I  were  to  try  to  suggest  an  explanation  of  the 
prevailing  discontent,  that  a  partial  explanation,  at  least,  can 
be  found  in  the  immense  increase  of  popular  opportunity  that 
is  due  to  the  spread  of  democracy,  and  which  has  resulted  in 
so  magnifying  every  problem  that  the  world  has  not  yet  learned 

I  [21] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

how  to  deal  with  many  of  them.  The  problems  are  not  only 
new;  in  scale  they  are  thoroughly  in  keeping  with  the  times, 
for  nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  the  age  than  the  large 
units  of  its  enterprise.  A  single  building  to-day  will  hold  as 
many  tenants  as  a  block  of  buildings  in  the  beginning  of  the 
last  century;  a  single  bridge  of  our  time  will  cost  as  much  as 
twenty  bridges  of  the  earlier  day;  and  so  one  might  go  through 
the  entire  catalogue  of  private  and  pubHc  undertakings.  But 
size  often  makes  simple  things  difficult.  Any  one  building  a 
house  in  the  country,  when  he  has  dug  a  well,  has  solved  the 
problem  of  his  water  supply;  but  to  supply  water  for  a  great 
city  calls  for  the  outlay  of  milUons  of  dollars,  and  for  the  em- 
ployment of  the  best  engineering  talent  in  the  land.  Yet 
nothing  has  happened  except  that  the  problem  has  been  magni- 
fied. Thus  it  is  clear  that  the  difficulties  created  by  the  multi- 
plication table  are  real;  so  that  the  very  enlargement  of  oppor- 
tunity that  democracy  has  brought  with  it  has  faced  democracy 
with  problems  far  harder  than  were  formerly  presented  to  any 
government. 

Another  cause  of  the  prevaiHng  discontent,  if  that  be  taken 
for  granted,  I  find  in  the  constant  and  uprooting  changes  in 
life  that  have  been  incident  to  the  rapid  progress  of  scientific 
invention  in  our  day,  and  from  which  no  class  of  people  have 
been  exempt.  The  unrest  is  so  general  and  so  world-wide 
that  it  is  not  surprising  that  men  are  seeking  to  find  for  it  some 
remedy  which,  by  its  thoroughness,  seems  to  give  promise  of  a 
complete  cure.  Every  one  is  conscious  of  the  new  problems, 
but  no  one  is  wise  enough  to  see  how  they  are  to  be  worked 
out.  Men  want  a  universal  panacea.  Accordingly,  the  an- 
archist and  the  nihihst  say  that  all  government,  or  even 
society  itself,  is  a  failure;  that  the  thing  to  do  is  to  de- 
stroy the  foundations  of  government  or  of  society  as  they 
now  exist  and  to  start  fresh.  The  communist,  less  radical, 
says  that  society  is  not  at  fault,  but  that  the  institution  of 
private  property  is  the  source  of  all  trouble.  If  communism 
could  be  introduced,  and  the  people  could  own  everything  in 
common,  then,  he  thinks,  the  inequahties  and  injustices  of  life 
would  disappear.  The  socialist,  on  the  other  hand,  recognizing 
I  [22] 


THE  OUTLOOK 

the  fallacy  of  both  claims,  says,  No,  that  is  xnot  the  trouble. 
The  state,  as  the  one  pre-eminently  democratic  corporation  of 
the  day,  ought  to  control  the  instruments  of  industry  and 
commerce.  When  these  are  controlled  by  the  state,  for  the 
general  good,  instead  of  being  held  as  now  for  private  advantage 
then  a  better  day  will  be  ushered  in.  And  so  it  goes.  It 
cannot  be  gainsaid  that  under  every  form  of  government  the 
times  are  trying  men's  souls  in  every  condition  of  Hf  e ;  but  there 
is  no  universal  panacea.  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  but 
patiently  to  meet  each  problem  as  it  comes,  in  the  best  way 
possible,  in  the  confidence  that  in  the  long  run  the  outcome 
will  be  advantageous  to  mankind.  This,  at  all  events,  I  think 
may  be  said  of  our  own  people  and  of  their  equipment  for  the 
problems  of  the  times:  that  the  American  people,  in  great 
crises,  by  their  self-control,  by  their  willingness  to  make  sacri- 
fices, and  by  their  evident  honesty  of  purpose,  have  gladdened 
the  hearts  of  their  friends,  and  have  encouraged  those  who  love 
to  believe  that  mankind  is  worthy  of  trust.  That  our  country 
has  not  perfectly  learned  the  art  of  self-government  goes  with- 
out saying;  but  that  it  has  made  progress  in  many  and  difiicult 
directions  I  think  must  also  be  admitted. 

In  the  mean  while,  some  of  the  problems  of  greatest  difficulty 
are  those  which  come  simply  from  our  size.  Merely  to  get  out 
the  vote  of  a  great  city,  or  of  a  State,  or  of  the  nation  requires 
so  much  machinery  as  to  give  to  the  machine  in  politics  a  power 
that  does  not  always  make  for  the  pubHc  good.  It  is  not 
surprising,  therefore,  that  wherever  this  problem  is  greatest,  as 
in  the  large  cities  and  the  large  States,  there  the  tendency  to 
the  control  of  the  machine  by  one  man,  and  to  the  control  of  the 
government  by  one  man  through  his  control  of  the  machine, 
is  the  most  evident.  It  does  not  yet  fully  appear  how  the 
country  is  to  secure  the  legitimate  results  now  obtained  through 
the  party  machines,  without  paying  to  the  machines,  as  such,  a 
price  which  is  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  value  of  their  services. 
It  is  not  to  be  beheved,  however,  for  one  moment,  that  the 
wisdom  and  patriotism  of  the  future  will  be  any  less  equal  to 
the  solution  of  our  problems  than  the  wisdom  and  patriotism 
of  the  past  have  been.     It  is  apparent  that  the  power  of  the 

I  [23] 


THE   OUTLOOK 

machine,  in  the  last  statement,  lies  in  its  control  of  the  power 
to  nominate,  because  the  control  of  that  power  opens  or  closes 
for  every  man  the  door  to  pubhc  life.  In  some  way,  it  must  be 
made  easier  for  men  whose  aim  is  simply  to  serve  the  pubhc  to 
get  into  pubhc  hfe  and  to  stay  in  it  without  loss  of  self-respect. 
The  many  movements  toward  primary  reform  which  look  to 
regaining  for  the  people  the  control  of  nominations  are  move- 
ments in  the  right  direction.  It  is  evident  that  the  pubhc 
instinct  has  recognized  the  source  of  the  difficulty,  and  that 
everywhere  men  are  at  work  trying  to  find  a  remedy  for  the 
evils  of  which  they  have  become  aware.  The  saying,  "  Eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of  Hberty,"  did  not  originate  in  our  day. 
We  are  conscious  of  our  own  shortcomings  and  of  our  own 
difficulties,  and  we  are  apt  to  forget  those  out  of  which  the  world 
has  grown.  We  have  only  to  remember  these  things  to  gain 
heart.  In  a  single  word,  I  beheve  the  problem  of  good  govern- 
ment, in  our  day  and  country,  is  largely  a  problem  of  education; 
and  in  this  view  it  is  interesting  to  recall  what  was  pointed 
out  not  long  ago  by  Dr.  Stanley  Hall,  that  education  is  the 
one  thing  as  to  the  value  of  which  all  men  everywhere,  at  the 
present  time,  are  agreed.  Not  that  there  is  agreement  on  the 
methods  and  detail  of  education;  but  all  men  are  agreed  that 
education  is  a  thing  to  be  encouraged,  a  thing  to  be  desired,  a 
thing  to  be  struggled  for,  and  a  thing  to  profit  by.  In  this 
education  our  universities  have  a  large  part  to  play.  They  are 
already  doing  much  in  the  direction  of  a  constructive  study  of 
politics  and  of  society.  Perhaps  they  are  not  doing  enough  in 
the  direction  of  the  constructive  study  of  industry  and  com- 
merce, for  in  an  industrial  and  commercial  age  both  political 
and  social  questions  are  largely  shaped  by  commerce  and 
industry.  In  economics,  the  work  of  the  universities  is  largely 
critical,  not  to  say  destructive;  but  because  of  their  abihty  to 
illuminate  the  problems  of  the  present  with  a  broad  knowledge 
of  what  is  being  done  the  world  over,  as  well  as  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  past,  and  because  of  their  own  inherent  democracy 
of  spirit  which  puts  them  in  vital  touch  with  the  spirit  of  the 
times,  I  am  confident  that  they  may,  if  they  will,  make  valuable 
contributions  to  such  a  study  of  industry  and  commerce  as  will 

I  [24] 


THE   OUTLOOK 

cause  the  universities  to  become  still  more  important  factors 
in  shaping  the  future  of  the  country. 

To  sum  up,  therefore,  I  should  say  that  the  trend  of  the  past 
century  has  been  to  a  great  increase  in  knowledge,  which  has 
been  found  to  be,  as  of  old,  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil; 
that  this  knowledge  has  become  more  and  more  the  property 
of  all  men  rather  than  of  a  few ;  that  as  a  result,  the  very  increase 
of  opportunity  has  led  to  the  magnifying  of  the  problems  with 
which  humanity  is  obliged  to  deal;  and  that  we  find  ourselves, 
at  the  beginning  of  a  new  century,  face  to  face  with  problems 
of  world-wide  importance  and  utmost  difficulty,  and  with  no 
new  means  of  coping  with  them  other  than  the  patient  education 
of  the  masses  of  men.  However  others  may  tremble  as  they 
contemplate  the  perplexities  of  the  coming  century,  the  children 
of  the  universities  should  find  it  easy  to  keep  heart;  for  they 
know  that  higher  things  have  been  developed  in  pain  and 
struggle  out  of  lower  since  creation  began;  and  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  university,  with  its  equality  of  privilege  and  wealth 
of  opportunity  open  to  all,  they  must  have  learned,  if  they  have 
learned  anything  of  value,  the  essential  nobility  of  the  demo- 
cratic spirit  that  so  surely  holds  the  future  in  its  hands — 
the  spirit  that  seeks,  with  the  strength  of  all,  to  serve  all  and 
uplift  all. 


[25] 


II 


THE  DANGER 

BY 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

PRESIDENT    OF    THE  UNITED    STATES 


TF  the  general  outlook  for  our  people  be  jair,  as  Mr,  Low  has 
-*  pointed  out,  nevertheless  we  face  dangers  in  the  future. 
Dangers  obviously  are  of  two  classes.  They  are  warning  shadows 
which  may  extend  either  above  an  individual  or  above  a  race;  and 
in  this  our  search  for  the  whole  meaning  of  modern  life  we  must 
examine  the  threat  of  the  future  in  both  these  aspects.  We  take 
here  and  first  its  general  warning  for  the  race.  Unfortunately  it  is 
just  this  broader  danger  that  many  of  us  are  quite  ready  to  ignore. 
We  do  not  understand  it;  it  seems  to  have  no  material  threat  for  us, 
ourselves;  and  what  is  called  the  ^^ social  consciences^  is  not  fully 
developed  in  us  all.  Many  among  us  feel  no  vivid  responsibility 
for  our  neighbor  or  for  our  children's  children.  "  The  nation  will 
last  my  time^^  is  a  too  common  phrase  wherewith  a  man  turns  back 
to  his  own  narrow  interests.  Untrained  in  history,  he  does  not 
know  that  when  a  racial  danger  strikes,  it  strikes  with  sudden  rage. 
No  magistrate  expects  it;  a  few  ranting  prophets  proclaim  it  and 
are  laughed  at — as  we  are  laughing  at  them  to-day.  Then  comes 
the  lightning  bolt.  Therefore  it  behooves  even  the  most  selfish  of 
us,  for  his  own  sake,  if  he  can  find  no  broader  standpoint,  to  take 
heed  to  the  danger  of  the  future,  lest  even  he  in  his  own  narrow 
body  be  involved  in  the  disaster. 

To  these  dangers  that  approach  the  nation  no  man  is  more 
fully  alive  than  he  whom  we  have  set  to  be  our  chief.  Again  and 
again,  in  private  speech  and  in  public  proclamation,  has  President 
Roosevelt  cried  out  words  of  warning,  perhaps  never  more  posi- 

U  [I] 


THE   DANGER 

iively  than  in  the  address  which  is  here  incorporated  in  our  series 
with  his  approval.  It  was  delivered  on  Labor  Day  in  iQOj,  at  the 
New  York  State  Fair  at  Syracuse ;  and  Mr.  Roosevelt  weaves 
happily  into  his  opening  sentence  the  fact  that  he  is  addressing  an 
audience  oj  farmers  and  laborers.  Later  on  he  emphasizes  that  he 
sees  also  before  him  merchants  and  professional  men,  that,  in 
short,  his  words  are  for  the  whole  broad  nation.  They  are  worth 
our  listening. 

Governor  Higgins;  my  fellow-citizens: 

In  speaking  on  Labor  Day  at  the  annual  fair  of  the  New 
York  State  Agricultural  Association,  it  is  natural  to  keep  espe- 
cially in  mind  the  two  bodies  who  compose  the  majority  of  our 
people  and  upon  whose  welfare  depends  the  welfare  of  the  entire 
State.  If  circumstances  are  such  that  thrift,  energy,  industry, 
and  forethought  enable  the  farmer,  the  tiller  of  the  soil,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  wage- worker,  on  the  other,  to  keep  themselves, 
their  wives,  and  their  children  in  reasonable  comfort,  then  the 
State  is  well  off,  and  we  can  be  assured  that  the  other  classes  in 
the  community  will  hkewise  prosper.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
there  is  in  the  long  run  a  lack  of  prosperity  among  the  two  classes 
named,  then  all  other  prosperity  is  sure  to  be  more  seeming  than 
real.  It  has  been  our  profound  good  fortune  as  a  nation  that 
hitherto,  disregarding  exceptional  periods  of  depression  and  the 
normal  and  inevitable  fluctuations,  there  has  been,  on  the  whole, 
from  the  beginning  of  our  Government  to  the  present  day  a  pro- 
gressive betterment  ahke  in  the  condition  of  the  tiller  of  the  soil 
and  in  the  condition  of  the  man  who,  by  his  manual  skill  and 
labor,  supports  himself  and  his  family,  and  endeavors  to  bring 
up  his  children  so  that  they  may  be  at  least  as  well  off  as,  and 
if  possible  better  off  than,  he  himself  has  been.  There  are,  of 
course,  exceptions,  but  as  a  whole  the  standard  of  Hving  among 
the  farmers  of  our  country  has  risen  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, and  the  wealth  represented  on  the  farms  has  steadily  in- 
creased, while  the  wages  of  labor  have  likewise  risen,  both  as 
regards  the  actual  money  paid  and  as  regards  the  purchasing 
power  which  that  money  represents. 

Side  by  side  with  this  increase  in  the  prosperity  of  the  wage- 

^  [3] 


THE   DANGER 

worker  and  the  tiller  of  the  soil  has  gone  on  a  great  increase  in 
prosperity  among  the  business  men  and  among  certain  classes  of 
professional  men;    and  the  prosperity  of  these  men  has  been 
partly  the  cause  and  partly  the  consequence  of  the  prosperity  of 
farmer  and  wage-worker.     It  can  not  be  too  often  repeated  that 
in  this  country,  in  the  long  run,  we  all  of  us  tend  to  go  up  or  go 
down  together.     If  the  average  of  well-being  is  high,  it  means 
that  the  average  wage  worker,  the  average  farmer,  and  the  aver- 
age business  man  are  all  aHke  well  dff.     If  the  average  shrinks, 
there  is  not  one  of  these  classes  which  will  not  feel  the  shrinkage. 
Of  course  there  are  always  some  men  who  are  not  affected  by 
good  times,  just  as  there  are  some  men  who  are  not  affected  by 
bad  times.     But  speaking  broadly,  it  is  true  that  if  prosperity 
comes,  all  of  us  tend  to  share  more  or  less  therein,  and  that  if 
adversity  comes,  each  of  us,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  feels  the 
tension.     Unfortunately,  in  this  world  the  innocent  frequently 
find  themselves  obliged  to  pay  some  of  the  penalty  for  the  mis- 
deeds of  the  guilty;  and  so  if  hard  times  come,  whether  they  be 
due  to  our  own  fault  or  to  our  misfortune;  whether  they  be  due 
to  some  burst  of  speculative  frenzy  that  has  caused  a  portion  of 
the  business  world  to  lose  its  head— a  loss  which  no  legislation 
can  possibly  supply;  or  whether  they  be  due  to  any  lack  of  wis- 
dom in  a  portion  of  the  world  of  labor— in  each  case  the  trouble 
once  started  is  felt  more  or  less  in  every  walk  of  Hf  e. 

It  is  all-essential  to  the  continuance  of  our  healthy  national 
life  that  we  should  recognize  this  community  of  interest  among 
our  people.  The  welfare  of  each  of  us  is  dependent  fundamen- 
tally upon  the  welfare  of  all  of  us,  and  therefore  in  public  life 
that  man  is  the  best  representative  of  each  of  us  who  seeks  to  do 
good  to  each  by  doing  good  to  all;  in  other  words,  whose  en- 
deavor it  is,  not  to  represent  any  special  class  and  promote 
merely  that  class's  selfish  interests,  but  to  represent  all  true  and 
honest  men  of  all  sections  and  all  classes,  and  to  work  for  their 
interests  by  working  for  our  common  country. 

We  can  keep  our  Government  on  a  sane  and  healthy  basis, 

we  can  make  and  keep  our  social  system  what  it  should  be,  only 

on  condition  of  judging  each  man,  not  as  a  member  of  a  class, 

but  on  his  worth  as  a  man.     It  is  an  infamous  thing  in  our 

II  [3] 


THE   DANGER 

American  life,  and  fundamentally  treacherous  to  our  institutions, 
to  apply  to  any  man  any  test  save  that  of  his  personal  worth,  or 
to  draw  between  two  sets  of  men  any  distinction  save  the  dis- 
tinction of  conduct,  the  distinction  that  marks  off  those  who  do 
well  and  wisely  from  those  who  do  ill  and  f ooHshly.  There  are 
good  citizens  and  bad  citizens  in  every  class  as  in  every  locaHty, 
and  the  attitude  of  decent  people  toward  great  pubHc  and  social 
questions  should  be  determined,  not  by  the  accidental  questions 
of  employment  or  locality,  but  by  those  deep-set  principles  which 
represent  the  innermost  souls  of  men. 

The  failure  in  pubHc  and  in  private  life  thus  to  treat  each  man 
on  his  own  merits,  the  recognition  of  this  Government  as  being 
either  for  the  poor  as  such  or  for  the  rich  as  such,  would  prove 
fatal  to  our  Repubhc,  as  such  failure  and  such  recognition  have 
always  proved  fatal  in  the  past  to  other  republics.  A  healthy 
repubhcan  government  must  rest  upon  individuals,  not  upon 
classes  or  sections.  As  soon  as  it  becomes  government  by  a 
class  or  by  a  section  it  departs  from  the  old  American  ideal. 

It  is,  of  course,  the  merest  truism  to  say  that  free  institutions 
are  of  avail  only  to  people  who  possess  the  high  and  peculiar 
characteristics  needed  to  take  advantage  of  such  institutions. 
The  century  that  has  just  closed  has  witnessed  many  and  lamen- 
table instances  in  which  people  have  seized  a  government  free  in 
form,  or  have  had  it  bestowed  upon  them,  and  yet  have  per- 
mitted it  under  the  forms  of  Hberty  to  become  some  species  of 
despotism  or  anarchy,  because  they  did  not  have  in  them  the 
power  to  make  this  seeming  Hberty  one  of  deed  instead  of  one 
merely  of  word.  Under  such  circumstances  the  seeming  Hberty 
may  be  supplanted  by  a  tyranny  or  despotism  in  the  first  place, 
or  it  may  reach  the  road  of  despotism  by  the  path  of  Hcense  and 
anarchy.  It  matters  but  Httle  which  road  is  taken.  In  either 
case  the  same  goal  is  reached.  People  show  themselves  just  as 
unfit  for  Hberty  whether  they  submit  to  anarchy  or  to  tyranny; 
and  class  government,  whether  it  be  the  government  of  a  plu- 
tocracy or  the  government  of  a  mob,  is  equally  incompatible  with 
the  principles  estabHshed  in  the  days  of  Washington  and  per- 
petuated in  the  days  of  Lincoln. 

Many  quaHties  are  needed  by  a  people  which  would  preserve 
"  [4] 


THE   DANGER 

the  power  of  self-government  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name.  Among 
these  quahties  are  forethought,  shrewdness,  self-restraint,  the 
courage  which  refuses  to  abandon  one's  own  rights,  and  the  dis- 
interested and  kindly  good  sense  which  enables  one  to  do  justice 
to  the  rights  of  others.  Lack  of  strength  and  lack  of  courage 
unfit  men  for  self-government  on  the  one  hand;  and  on  the 
other,  brutal  arrogance,  envy— in  short,  any  manifestation  of  the 
spirit  of  selfish  disregard,  whether  of  one's  own  duties  or  of  the 
rights  of  others,  are  equally  fatal. 

In  the  history  of  mankind  many  repubHcs  have  risen,  have 
flourished  for  a  less  or  greater  time,  and  then  have  fallen  because 
their  citizens  lost  the  power  of  governing  themselves  and  thereby 
of  governing  their  state;  and  in  no  way  has  this  loss  of  power 
been  so  often  and  so  clearly  shown  as  in  the  tendency  to  turn  the 
Government  into  a  government  primarily  for  the  benefit  of  one 
class  instead  of  a  government  for  the  benefit  of  the  people  as  a 
whole. 

Again  and  again  in  the  repubhcs  of  ancient  Greece,  in 
those  of  mediaeval  Italy  and  mediaeval  Flanders,  this  tendency 
was  shown,  and  wherever  the  tendency  became  a  habit  it  invari- 
ably and  inevitably  proved  fatal  to  the  State.  In  the  final  result 
it  mattered  not  one  whit  whether  the  movement  was  in  favor  of 
one  class  or  of  another.  The  outcome  was  equally  fatal,  whether 
the  country  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  wealthy  ohgarchy  which  ex- 
ploited the  poor  or  whether  it  fell  under  the  domination  of  a 
turbulent  mob  which  plundered  the  rich.  In  both  cases  there 
resulted  violent  alternations  between  tyranny  and  disorder,  and  a 
final  complete  loss  of  Hberty  to  all  citizens — destruction  in  the 
end  overtaking  the  class  which  had  for  the  moment  been  vic- 
torious, as  well  as  that  which  had  momentarily  been  defeated. 
The  death-knell  of  the  Repubhc  had  rung  as  soon  as  the  active 
power  became  lodged  in  the  hands  of  those  who  sought,  not  to  do 
justice  to  all  citizens,  rich  and  poor  aHke,  but  to  stand  for  one 
special  class  and  for  its  interests  as  opposed  to  the  interests  of 
others. 

The  reason  why  our  future  is  assured  Hes  in  the  fact  that  our 
people  are  genuinely  skilled  in  and  fitted  for  self-government  and 
therefore  will  spurn  the  leadership  of  those  who  seek  to  excite 
n  [5] 


THE   DANGER 

this  ferocious  and  foolish  class  antagonism.  The  average  Ameri- 
can knows  not  only  that  he  himself  intends  to  do  about  what  is 
right,  but  that  his  average  fellow-countryman  has  the  same  in- 
tention and  the  same  power  to  make  his  intention  effective.  He 
knows,  whether  he  be  business  man,  professional  man,  farmer, 
mechanic,  employer,  or  wage-worker,  that  the  welfare  of  each  of 
these  men  is  bound  up  with  the  welfare  of  all  the  others;  that 
each  is  neighbor  to  the  other,  is  actuated  by  the  same  hopes  and 
fears,  has  fundamentally  the  same  ideals,  and  that  all  ahke  have 
much  the  same  virtues  and  the  same  faults.  Our  average  fellow- 
citizen  is  a  sane  and  healthy  man,  who  believes  in  decency  and 
has  a  wholesome  mind.  He  therefore  feels  an  equal  scorn  ahke 
for  the  man  of  wealth  guilty  of  the  mean  and  base  spirit  of  arro- 
gance toward  those  who  are  less  well  off,  and  for  the  man  of  small 
means  who  in  his  turn  either  feels  or  seeks  to  excite  in  others  the 
f eehng  of  mean  and  base  envy  for  those  who  are  better  off.  The 
two  f eehngs,  envy  and  arrogance,  are  but  opposite  sides  of  the 
same  shield,  but  different  developments  of  the  same  spirit. 
Fundamentally,  the  unscrupulous  rich  man  who  seeks  to  exploit 
and  oppress  those  who  are  less  well  off  is  in  spirit  not  opposed  to, 
but  identical  with,  the  unscrupulous  poor  man  who  desires  to 
plunder  and  oppress  those  who  are  better  off.  The  courtier  and 
the  demagogue  are  but  developments  of  the  same  type  under 
different  conditions,  each  manifesting  the  same  servile  spirit,  the 
same  desire  to  rise  by  pandering  to  base  passions;  though  one 
panders  to  power  in  the  shape  of  a  single  man  and  the  other  to 
power  in  the  shape  of  a  multitude.  So  hkewise  the  man  who 
wishes  to  rise  by  wronging  others  must  by  right  be  contrasted, 
not  with  the  man  who  hkewise  wishes  to  do  wrong,  though  to  a 
different  set  of  people,  but  with  the  man  who  wishes  to  do  justice 
to  all  people  and  to  wrong  none. 

The  line  of  cleavage  between  good  and  bad  citizenship  lies, 
not  between  the  man  of  wealth  who  acts  squarely  by  his  fellows 
and  the  man  who  seeks  each  day's  wage  by  that  day's  work, 
wronging  no  one  and  doing  his  duty  by  his  neighbor;  nor  yet 
does  this  line  of  cleavage  divide  the  unscrupulous  wealthy  man 
who  exploits  others  in  his  own  interest,  from  the  demagogue,  or 
from  the  sullen  and  envious  being  who  wishes  to  attack  all  men 
n  [6] 


THE   DANGER 

of  property,  whether  they  do  well  or  ill.  On  the  contrary,  the 
line  of  cleavage  between  good  citizenship  and  bad  citizenship 
separates  the  rich  man  who  does  well  from  the  rich  man  who 
does  ill,  the  poor  man  of  good  conduct  from  the  poor  man  of  bad 
conduct.  This  Hne  of  cleavage  Hes  at  right  angles  to  any  such 
arbitrary  Hne  of  division  as  that  separating  one  class  from 
another,  one  locaHty  from  another,  or  men  with  a  certain  degree 
of  property  from  those  of  a  less  degree  of  property. 

The  good  citizen  is  the  man  who,  whatever  his  weakh  or  his 
poverty,  strives  manfully  to  do  his  duty  to  himself,  to  his  family, 
to  his  neighbor,  to  the  State;  who  is  incapable  of  the  baseness 
which  manifests  itself  either  in  arrogance  or  in  envy,  but  who, 
while  demanding  justice  for  himself,  is  no  less  scrupulous  to  do 
justice  to  others.  It  is  because  the  average  American  citizen, 
rich  or  poor,  is  of  just  this  type  that  we  have  cause  for  our  pro- 
found faith  in  the  future  of  the  Republic. 

Ours  is  a  government  of  hberty,  by,  through,  and  under  the 
law.  Lawlessness  and  connivance  at  law-breaking — whether 
the  law-breaking  take  the  form  of  a  crime  of  greed  and  cunning 
or  of  a  crime  of  violence — are  destructive  not  only  of  order,  but 
of  the  true  Hberties  which  can  only  come  through  order.  If 
aHve  to  their  true  interests,  rich  and  poor  ahke  will  set  their  faces 
Hke  flint  against  the  spirit  which  seeks  personal  advantage  by 
overriding  the  laws,  without  regard  to  whether  this  spirit  shows 
itself  in  the  form  of  bodily  violence  by  one  set  of  men  or  in  the 
form  of  vulpine  cunning  by  another  set  of  men. 

Let  the  watchwords  of  all  our  people  be  the  old  familiar 
watchwords  of  honesty,  decency,  fair-deahng,  and  common- 
sense.  The  quahties  denoted  by  these  words  are  essential  to  all 
of  us,  as  we  deal  with  the  complex  industrial  problems  of  to-day, 
the  problems  affecting  not  merely  the  accumulation  but  even 
more  the  wise  distribution  of  wealth.  We  ask  no  man's  permis- 
sion when  we  require  him  to  obey  the  law ;  neither  the  permission 
of  the  poor  man  nor  yet  of  the  rich  man.  Least  of  all  can  the 
man  of  great  wealth  afford  to  break  the  law,  even  for  his  own 
financial  advantage;  for  the  law  is  his  prop  and  support,  and  it 
is  both  foohsh  and  profoundly  unpatriotic  for  him  to  fail  in 
giving  hearty  support  to  those  who  show  that  there  is  in  very  fact 
n  [7] 


THE   DANGER 

one  law,  and  one  law  only,  alike  for  the  rich  and  the  poor,  for  the 
great  and  the  small. 

Men  sincerely  interested  in  the  due  protection  of  property, 
and  men  sincerely  interested  in  seeing  that  the  just  rights  of 
labor  are  guaranteed,  should  alike  remember  not  only  that  in  the 
long  run  neither  the  capitaHst  nor  the  wage- worker  can  be  helped 
in  healthy  fashion  save  by  helping  the  other;  but  also  that  to 
require  either  side  to  obey  the  law  and  do  its  full  duty  toward  the 
community  is  emphatically  to  that  side's  real  interest. 

There  is  no  worse  enemy  of  the  wage-worker  than  the  man 
who  condones  mob  violence  in  any  shape  or  who  preaches  class 
hatred ;  and  surely  the  shghtest  acquaintance  with  our  industrial 
history  should  teach  even  the  most  short-sighted  that  the  times 
of  most  suffering  for  our  people  as  a  whole,  the  times  when  busi- 
ness is  stagnant,  and  capital  suffers  from  shrinkage  and  gets  no 
return  from  its  investments,  are  exactly  the  times  of  hardship, 
and  want,  and  grim  disaster  among  the  poor.  If  all  the  existing 
instrumentahties  of  wealth  could  be  aboHshed,  the  first  and 
severest  suffering  would  come  among  those  of  us  who  are  least 
well  off  at  present.  The  wage- worker  is  well  off  only  when  the 
rest  of  the  country  is  well  off ;  and  he  can  best  contribute  to  this 
general  well-being  by  showing  sanity  and  a  firm  purpose  to  do 
justice  to  others. 

In  his  turn  the  capitaHst  who  is  really  a  conservative,  the  man 
who  has  forethought  as  well  as  patriotism,  should  heartily  wel- 
come every  effort,  legislative  or  otherwise,  which  has  for  its  ob- 
ject to  secure  fair  deaHng  by  capital,  corporate  or  individual, 
toward  the  pubHc  and  toward  the  employee.  Such  laws  as  the 
franchise-tax  law  in  this  State,  which  the  Court  of  Appeals 
recently  unanimously  decided  constitutional ;  such  a  law  as  that 
passed  in  Congress  last  year  for  the  purpose  of  estabhshing  a 
Department  of  Commerce  and  Labor,  under  which  there  should 
be  a  bureau  to  oversee  and  secure  pubhcity  from  the  great  cor- 
porations which  do  an  interstate  business;  such  a  law  as  that 
passed  at  the  same  time  for  the  regulation  of  the  great  highways 
of  commerce  so  as  to  keep  these  roads  clear  on  fair  terms  to  all 
producers  in  getting  their  goods  to  market — these  laws  are  in  the 
interest  not  merely  of  the  people  as  a  whole,  but  of  the  propertied 
n  [8] 


THE   DANGER 

classes.  For  In  no  way  is  the  stability  of  property  better  assured 
than  by  making  it  patent  to  our  people  that  property  bears  its 
proper  share  of  the  burdens  of  the  State;  that  property  is 
handled  not  only  in  the  interest  of  the  owner,  but  in  the  interest 
of  the  whole  community. 

In  other  words,  legislation  to  be  permanently  good  for  any 
class  must  also  be  good  for  the  nation  as  a  whole ;  and  legislation 
which  does  injustice  to  any  class  is  certain  to  work  harm  to  the 
nation.  Take  our  currency  system,  for  example.  This  nation 
is  on  a  gold  basis.  The  Treasury  of  the  pubHc  is  in  excellent 
condition.  Never  before  has  the  per  capita  of  circulation  been 
as  large  as  it  is  this  day;  and  this  circulation,  moreover,  is  of 
money,  every  dollar  of  which  is  at  par  with  gold.  Now,  our 
having  this  sound  currency  system  is  of  benefit  to  banks,  of 
course,  but  it  is  of  infinitely  more  benefit  to  the  people  as  a  whole, 
because  of  the  healthy  effect  on  business  conditions. 

In  the  same  way,  whatever  is  advisable  in  the  way  of  remedial 
or  corrective  currency  legislation — and  nothing  revolutionary  is 
advisable  under  present  conditions — must  be  undertaken  only 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  business  community  as  a  whole,  that 
is,  of  the  American  body  poHtic  as  a  whole.  Whatever  is  done, 
we  cannot  afford  to  take  any  step  backward  or  to  cast  any  doubt 
upon  the  certain  redemption  in  standard  coin  of  every  circulating 
note. 

Among  ourselves  we  differ  in  many  quahties,  of  body,  head, 
and  heart;  we  are  unequally  developed,  mentally  as  well  as 
physically.  But  each  of  us  has  the  right  to  ask  that  he  shall  be 
protected  from  wrongdoing  as  he  does  his  work  and  carries  his 
burden  through  life.  No  man  needs  sympathy  because  he  has 
to  work,  because  he  has  a  burden  to  carry.  Far  and  away  the 
best  prize  that  hfe  offers  is  the  chance  to  work  hard  at  work 
worth  doing;  and  this  is  a  prize  open  to  every  man,  for  there  can 
be  no  work  better  worth  doing  than  that  done  to  keep  in  health 
and  comfort  and  with  reasonable  advantages  those  immediately 
dependent  upon  the  husband,  the  father,  or  the  son. 

There  is  no  room  in  our  healthy  American  life  for  the  mere 
idler,  for  the  man  or  the  woman  whose  object  it  is  throughout 
life  to  shirk  the  duties  which  life  ought  to  bring.     Life  can  mean 
n  [9] 


THE   DANGER 

nothing  worth  meaning,  unless  its  prime  aim  is  the  doing  of  duty, 
the  achievement  of  resuks  worth  achieving.  A  recent  writer  has 
finely  said:  "After  all,  the  saddest  thing  that  can  happen  to  a 
man  is  to  carry  no  burdens.  To  be  bent  under  too  great  a  load 
is  bad;  to  be  crushed  by  it  is  lamentable;  but  even  in  that  there 
are  possibihties  that  are  glorious.  But  to  carry  no  load  at  all — 
there  is  nothing  in  that.  No  one  seems  to  arrive  at  any  goal 
really  worth  reaching  in  this  world  who  does  not  come  to  it  heavy 
laden." 

Surely  from  our  own  experience  each  one  of  us  knows  that 
this  is  true.  From  the  greatest  to  the  smallest,  happiness  and 
usefulness  are  largely  found  in  the  same  soul,  and  the  joy  of  Hf e 
is  won  in  its  deepest  and  truest  sense  only  by  those  who  have  not 
shirked  Hfe's  burdens.  The  men  whom  we  most  dehght  to 
honor  in  all  this  land  are  those  who,  in  the  iron  years  from  '6i  to 
'65,  bore  on  their  shoulders  the  burden  of  saving  the  Union. 
They  did  not  choose  the  easy  task.  They  did  not  shirk  the 
difficult  duty.  Dehberately  and  of  their  own  free  will  they 
strove  for  an  ideal,  upward  and  onward  across  the  stony  slopes 
of  greatness.  They  did  the  hardest  work  that  was  then  to  be 
done;  they  bore  the  heaviest  burden  that  any  generation  of 
Americans  ever  had  to  bear;  and  because  they  did  this  they  have 
won  such  proud  joy  as  it  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  no  other  men  to 
win,  and  have  written  their  names  forevermore  on  the  golden 
honor  roll  of  the  nation.  As  it  is  with  the  soldier,  so  it  is  with  the 
civihan.  To  win  success  in  the  business  world,  to  become  a 
first-class  mechanic,  a  successful  farmer,  an  able  lawyer  or 
doctor,  means  that  the  man  has  devoted  his  best  energy  and 
power  through  long  years  to  the  achievement  of  his  ends.  So  it 
is  in  the  life  of  the  family,  upon  which  in  the  last  analysis  the 
whole  welfare  of  the  nation  rests.  The  man  or  woman  who  as 
bread-winner  and  home-maker,  or  as  wife  and  mother,  has  done 
all  that  he  or  she  can  do,  patiently  and  uncomplainingly,  is  to  be 
honored,  and  is  to  be  envied  by  all  those  who  have  never  had  the 
good  fortune  to  feel  the  need  and  duty  of  doing  such  work.  The 
woman  who  has  borne,  and  who  has  reared  as  they  should  be 
reared,  a  family  of  children,  has  in  the  most  emphatic  manner 
deserved  well  of  the  RepubHc.     Her  burden  has  been  heavy,  and 

n  [10] 


THE   DANGER 

she  has  been  able  to  bear  it  worthily  only  by  the  possession  of 
resolution,  of  good  sense,  of  conscience,  and  of  unselfishness. 
But  if  she  has  borne  it  well,  then  to  her  shall  come  the  supreme 
blessing,  for  in  the  words  of  the  oldest  and  greatest  of  books, 
"Her  children  shall  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed";  and  among 
the  benefactors  of  the  land  her  place  must  be  with  those  who 
have  done  the  best  and  the  hardest  work  whether  as  law-givers  or 
as  soldiers,  whether  in  pubhc  or  in  private  life. 

This  is  not  a  soft  and  easy  creed  to  preach.     It  is  a  creed 
wilHngly  learned  only  by  men  and  women  who,  together  with  the 
softer  virtues,  possess  also  the  stronger;  who  can  do,  and  dare, 
and  die  at  need,  but  who  while  Hf e  lasts  will  never  flinch  from 
their  allotted  task.     You  farmers,  and  wage- workers,  and  busi- 
ness men  of  this  great  State,  of  this  mighty  and  wonderful  nation, 
are  gathered  together  to-day,  proud  of  your  State  and  still 
prouder  of  your  Nation,  because  your  forefathers  and  prede- 
cessors have  lived  up  to  just  this  creed.     You  have  received  from 
their  hands  a  great  inheritance,  and  you  will  leave  an  even  greater 
inheritance  to  your  children  and  your  children's  children,  pro- 
vided only  that  you  practise  ahke  in  your  private  and  your  pubhc 
lives  the  strong  virtues  that  have  given  us  as  a  people  greatness  in 
the  past.     It  is  not  enough  to  be  well-meaning  and  kindly,  but 
weak;    neither  is  it  enough  to  be  strong,  unless  morahty  and 
decency  go  hand  in  hand  with  strength.     We  must  possess  the 
quahties  which  make  us  do  our  duty  in  our  homes  and  among 
our  neighbors,  and  in  addition  we  must  possess  the  quahties 
which  are  indispensable  to  the  makeup  of  every  great  and 
masterful  nation— the  quahties  of  courage  and  hardihood,  of 
individual  initiative  and  yet  of  power  to  combine  for  a  common 
end,  and,  above  all,  the  resolute  determination  to  permit  no  man 
and  no  set  of  men  to  sunder  us  one  from  the  other  by  lines  of 
caste  or  creed  or  section.     We  must  act  upon  the  motto  of  ah  for 
each  and  each  for  all.     There  must  be  ever  present  in  our  minds 
the  fundamental  truth  that  in  a  republic  such  as  ours  the  only 
safety  is  to  stand  neither  for  nor  against  any  man  because  he  is 
rich  or  because  he  is  poor,  because  he  is  engaged  in  one  occupa- 
tion or  another,  because  he  works  with  his  brains  or  because  he 
works  with  his  hands.     We  must  treat  each  man  on  his  worth 

11  ["] 


THE   DANGER 

and  merits  as  a  man.  We  must  see  that  each  is  given  a  square 
deal,  because  he  is  entitled  to  no  more  and  should  receive  no  less. 
Finally  we  must  keep  ever  in  mind  that  a  repubhc  such  as  ours 
can  exist  only  by  virtue  of  the  orderly  Hberty  which  comes 
through  the  equal  domination  of  the  law  over  all  men  ahke,  and 
through  its  administration  in  such  resolute  and  fearless  fashion 
as  shall  teach  all  that  no  man  is  above  it  and  no  man  below  it. 


IT 


Ill 


THE  BELIEFS 

"RELIGION,  SCIENCE,  AND  MIRACLE" 

BY 

SIR  OLIVER  LODGE 

PRESIDENT    OF    BIRMINGHAM    UNIVERSITY,     ENGLAND 


CT^HERE  is  one  element  of  our  being  that,  in  many  minds,  is 
so  deeply  interwoven  with  every  aspect  of  thought,  one 
question  so  omnipresent,  that  no  search  into  the  meaning  oj  life 
can  jar  advance  without  that  question  being  raised.  What  atti- 
tude does  the  search  assume  toward  religious  jaith  ?  This  does 
not  necessarily  inquire  into  the  particular  sect  or  creed  oj  the 
searcher.  We  have  reached  a  point  where  even  the  most  militant 
apostle,  the  one  most  satisfied  as  to  the  value  and  accuracy  oj  his 
own  beliejs,  has  ceased  to  enjorce  their  acceptance  upon  his 
neighbor.  Some  oj  us  might  even  admit  that  our  heretic  neighbor 
was  the  better  man. 

We  are  all,  however,  more  or  less  jully  aware  that  some  time 
during  the  last  halj-century  certain  Scientists  and  certain  Church- 
men engaged  in  a  somewhat  vehement  and  wordy  war.  With  the 
details  oj  this  strije  most  oj  us  are  not  wholly  jamiliar.  It  cen- 
tred, we  know,  upon  evolution  and  upon  Adam.  Perhaps  many 
oj  us  were  unwilling  to  know  more.  We  avoided  inquiry  lest  our 
religious  jaith  be  shaken  by  scientific  ideas  oj  whose  value  we  were 
incompetent  to  judge.  Yet  in  this  very  withdrawal  oj  ourselves, 
there  were  elements  oj  uncertainty,  oj  jear.  The  spirit  oj  jaith 
was  disturbed,  even  ij  not  made  doubt  Jul,  in  each  thought  Jul  mind. 

To  all,  there jore,  who  have  not  closely  jollowed  the  course  oj  the 
contest,  the  two  jollowing  addresses  must  come  as  a  reliej.  They 
show  that  this  controversy,  like  many  another,  begins  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  thing  oj  the  past,  that  religious  jaith  still  survives 

III  [  I  ] 


THE   BELIEFS 

even  in  the  minds  oj  many  philosophers  the  most  ^'  advanced. ^^ 
Sir  Oliver  Lodge,  M.Sc.,  F.R.S.,  D.Sc,  LL.D.,  is  among  the 
most  widely  known  oj  British  scientists.  Perhaps  he  has  done 
more  than  any  other  living  man  to  bring  scientific  knowledge  into 
the  minds  oj  the  common  people.  Moreover,  as  head  oj  one  oj  the 
leading  English  universities,  that  oj  Birmingham,  he  has  done 
much  jor  the  cause  oj  higher  education.  Among  the  many  honors 
which  have  come  to  him  is  that  oj  being  made,  in  1905,  President 
oj  the  Social  and  Political  Education  League.  The  material  oj 
the  jollowing  address  is  substantially  that  oj  a  lecture  recently 
delivered  by  him  to  his  students  at  Birmingham,  though  it  was 
rearranged  jor  publication.  The  Duke  oj  Northumberland  ranks 
high  among  the  great  lords  oj  the  British  Empire,  as  well  as 
among  the  great  scientific  writers  oj  the  world.  His  religious 
attitude  has  always  shown  closer  clinging  to  old  jorms  oj  jaith  than 
that  oj  the  radical  scientist  and  is  well  worth  comparing  with  that 
oj  Sir  Oliver. 

In  briej,  religion  has  but  passed  through  another  oj  those 
crises  comfnon  to  all  things  that  live  and  grow.  Again  and  again 
in  the  course  oj  ages,  in  Luther'' s  time,  in  Galileo^ s,  in  other  epochs 
and  with  other  jaiths  less  widely  known,  have  the  very  joundations 
oj  the  'Hiving  jaith^^  seemed  undermined.  In  other  days  even 
more  perhaps  than  now,  have  men  who  loved  and  jeared,  shut 
their  eyes  in  terror  and  turned  away  jrom  the  threatened  downjall. 
Yet  when  the  despairing  mourners  looked  again,  behold,  the  storm 
had  passed  them  by;  and  bcliej  in  God,  a  living  principle  in  the 
hearts  oj  men,  rose  up  mighty  as  ever,  unshaken  and  eternal. 


I 

SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION 

There  was  a  time  when  religious  people  distrusted  the  in- 
crease of  knowledge,  and  condemned  the  mental  attitude  which 
takes  delight  in  its  pursuit,  being  in  dread  lest  part  of  the 
foundation  of  their  faith  should  be  undermined  by  a  too  ruth- 
less and  unqualified  spirit  of  investigation. 

There  has  been  a  time  when  men  engaged  in  the  quest  of 
m  [2] 


THE   BELIEFS 

systematic  knowledge  had  an  idea  that  the  results  of  their 
studies  would  be  destructive  not  only  of  outlying  accretions  but 
of  substantial  portions  of  the  edifice  of  rehgion  which  has  been 
gradually  erected  by  the  prophets  and  saints  of  humanity. 

Both  these  epochs  are  now  nearly  over.  All  men  realize 
that  truth  is  the  important  thing,  and  that  to  take  refuge  in 
any  shelter  less  substantial  than  the  truth  is  but  to  deceive 
themselves  and  become  liable  to  abject  exposure  when  a  storm 
comes  on.  On  the  other  hand  most  men  are  aware  that  it  is 
a  sign  of  unbalanced  judgment  to  conclude,  on  the  strength  of 
a  few  momentous  discoveries,  that  the  whole  structure  of  re- 
ligious behef  built  up  through  the  ages  by  the  developing  human 
race  from  f undamcuital  emotions  and  instincts  and  experiences, 
is  unsubstantial  and  insecure. 

The  business  of  -science,  including  in  that  term,  for  present 
purposes,  philosophy  and  the  science  of  criticism,  is  with  founda- 
tions; the  business  of  rehgion  is  with  superstructure.  Science 
has  laboriously  laid  a  sohd  foundation  of  great  strength,  and  its 
votaries  have  rejoiced  over  it ;  though  their  joy  must  perforce  be 
somewhat  dumb  and  inexpressive  until  the  more  vocal  apostles 
of  art  and  literature  and  music  are  able  to  utiKze  it  for  their  more 
aerial  and  winsome  kind  of  building:  so  for  the  present  the  work 
of  science  strikes  strangers  as  severe  and  forbidding.  In  a 
neighboring  territory  Religion  occupies  a  splendid  building— a 
gorgeously  decorated  palace;  concerning  which,  Science,  not 
yet  having  discovered  a  substantial  and  satisfactory  basis,  is 
sometimes  inchned  to  suspect  that  it  is  phantasmal  and  mainly 
supported  on  legend. 

Without  any  controversy  it  may  be  admitted  that  the  founda- 
tion and  the  superstructure  as  at  present  known  do  not  corre- 
spond ;  and  hence  that  there  is  an  apparent  dislocation.  Men  of 
science  have  exclaimed  that  in  their  possession  is  the  only 
foundation  of  soKd  truth,  adopting  in  that  sense  the  words  of 

the  poet : 

To  the  solid  ground 
Of  Nature  trusts  the  mind  which  builds  for  aye. 

While  on  the  other  hand  men  of  Religion,  snugly  ensconced  in  their 
traditional  eyrie,  and  objecting  to  the  digging  and  the  hammer- 
in  [  3  ] 


THE   BELIEFS 

ing  below,  have  shuddered  as  the  artificial  props  and  pillars  by 
which  they  supposed  it  to  be  buttressed  gave  way  one  after 
another;  and  have  doubted  whether  they  could  continue  to 
enjoy  peace  in  their  ancient  fortress  if  it  turned  out  that  part  of  it 
was  suspended  in  air,  without  any  perceptible  foundation  at  all, 
like  the  phantom  city  in  "Gareth  and  Lynette"  whereof  it 
could  be  said  : 

the  city  is  built 
To  music,  therefore  never  built  at  all 
And  therefore  built  for  ever. 

Remarks  as  to  lack  of  sohd  foundation  may  be  regarded 
as  typical  of  the  mild  kind  of  sarcasm  which  people  with  a 
superficial  smattering  of  popular  science  sometimes  try  to  pour 
upon  religion.  They  think  that  to  accuse  a  system  of  being  de- 
void of  soHd  foundation  is  equivalent  to  denying  its  stabihty. 
On  the  contrary,  as  Tennyson  no  doubt  perceived,  the  absence 
of  anything  that  may  crumble  or  be  attacked  and  knocked  away, 
or  that  can  be  shaken  by  an  earthquake,  is  a  safeguard  rather 
than  a  danger.  It  is  the  absence  of  material  foundation  that 
makes  the  Earth  itself,  for  instance,  so  secure :  if  it  were  based 
upon  a  pedestal,  or  otherwise  soHdly  supported,  we  might  be 
anxious  about  the  stabihty  and  durabihty  of  the  support.  As  it 
is,  it  floats  securely  in  the  emptiness  of  space.  Similarly  the 
persistence  of  its  diurnal  spin  is  secured  by  the  absence  of  any- 
thing to  stop  it :  not  by  any  maintaining  mechanism. 

To  say  that  a  system  does  not  rest  upon  one  special  fact  is  not 
to  impugn  its  stability.  The  body  of  scientific  truth  rests  on  no 
sohtary  material  fact  or  group  of  facts,  but  on  a  basis  of  harmony 
and  consistency  between  facts :  its  support  and  ultimate  sanction 
is  of  no  material  character.  To  conceive  of  Christianity  as 
built  upon  an  Empty  Tomb,  or  any  other  plain  physical  or  his- 
torical fact,  is  dangerous.  To  base  it  upon  the  primary  facts  of 
consciousness  or  upon  direct  spiritual  experience,  as  Paul  did, 
is  safer.^     There  are  parts  of  the  structure  of  Rehgion  which 

*  It  will  be  represented  that  I  am  here  intending  to  cast  doubt 

upon  a  fundamental  tenet  of  the  Church.     That  is  not  my  intention. 

My  contention  here  is  merely  that  a  great  structure  should  not  rest 

upon  a  point.     So  might  a  lawyer  properly  say:  "To  base  a  legal 

III  [4] 


THE   BELIEFS 

may  safely  be  underpinned  by  physical  science:  the  theory  of 
death  and  of  continued  personal  existence  is  one  of  them ;  there 
are  many  others,  and  there  will  be  more.  But  there  are  and 
always  will  be  vast  religious  regions  for  which  that  kind  of 
scientific  foundation  would  be  an  impertinence,  though  a 
scientific  contribution  is  appropriate;  perhaps  these  may  be 
summed  up  in  some  such  phrase  as  "the  relation  of  the  soul 
to  God." 

Assertions  are  made  concerning  material  facts  in  the  name 
of  rehgion ;  these  science  is  bound  to  criticise.  Testimony  is 
borne  to  inner  personal  experience;  on  that  physical  science  does 
well  to  be  silent.  Nevertheless  many  of  us  are  impressed  with 
the  conviction  that  everything  in  the  universe  may  become  in- 
telligible if  we  go  the  right  way  to  work ;  and  so  we  are  coming  to 
recognize,  on  the  one  hand,  that  every  system  of  truth  must  be 
intimately  connected  with  every  other,  and  that  this  connection 
will  constitute  a  trustworthy  support  as  soon  as  it  is  revealed  by 
the  progress  of  knowledge ,  and  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  ex- 
tensive foundation  of  truth  now  being  laid  by  scientific  workers 
will  ultimately  support  a  gorgeous  building  of  aesthetic  feeling 
and  reHgious  faith. 

Theologians  have  been  apt  to  be  too  easily  satisfied  with  a 
pretended  foundation  that  would  not  tand  scientific  scrutiny; 
they  seem  to  believe  that  the  rehgious  edifice,  with  its  mighty 
halls  for  the  human  spirit,  can  rest  upon  some  event  or  statement, 
instead  of  upon  man's  nature  as  a  whole;  and  they  are  apt  to 
decHne  to  reconsider  their  formulas  in  the  light  of  fuller  knowl- 
edge and  development. 

Scientific  men  on  the  other  hand  have  been  liable  to  suppose 
that  no  foundation  which  they  have  not  themselves  laid  can  be 
of  a  substantial  character,  thereby  ignoring  the  possibihty  of  an 
ancestral  accumulation  of  sound  though  unformulated  experi- 
ence; and  a  few  of  the  less  considerate,  about  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury ago,  amused  themselves  by  instituting  a  kind  of  jubilant 
rat-hunt  under  the  venerable  theological  edifice:    a  procedure 

decision  upon  the  position  of  a  comma,  or  other  punctuation — how- 
ever undisputed  its  occurrence — is  dangerous;  to  base  it  upon  the 
general  sense  of  a  document  is  safer." — O.  L. 

ni  [S] 


THE   BELIEFS 

necessarily  obnoxious  to  its  occupants.  The  exploration  was 
unpleasant,  but  its  results  have  been  purifying  and  healthful,  and 
the  permanent  substratum  of  fact  will  in  due  time  be  cleared  of 
the  decaying  refuse  of  centuries. 

Some  of  the  chief  hurly-burly  of  contention  between  the 
apparently  attacking  force  and  the  ostensibly  defending  garrison 
arose  round  that  bulwark  which  upholds  the  possibihty  of  the 
Miraculous;  and  the  efficacy  of  Prayer.  It  will  be  sufficient  if  in 
this  Address  I  discuss  these  two  connected  subjects. 


II 

MEANING  OF  MIRACLE 

I  have  to  begin  by  saying  that  the  term  "miracle"  is  ambig- 
uous, and  that  no  discussion  which  takes  that  term  as  a  basis 
can  be  very  fruitful,  since  the  combatants  may  all  be  meaning 
different  things. 

(i)  One  user  of  the  term  may  mean  merely  an  unusual  event 
of  which  we  do  not  know  the  history  and  cause,  a  bare  wonder  or 
prodigy;  such  an  event  as  the  course  of  nature  may,  for  all  we 
know,  bring  about  once  in  ten  thousand  years  or  so,  leaving  no 
record  of  its  occurrence  in  the  past  and  no  anticipatory  prob- 
abihty  of  its  re-occurrence  in  the  future.  The  raining  down  of 
fire  on  Sodom,  or  on  Pompeii ;  the  sudden  engulfing  of  Korah, 
or  of  Marcus  Curtius;  or,  on  a  different  plane,  the  advent  of 
some  transcendent  genius,  or  even  of  a  personality  so  lofty  as  to 
be  called  divine,  may  serve  as  examples. 

(2)  Another  employer  of  the  term  "miracle"  may  add  to 
this  idea  a  definite  hypothesis,  and  may  mean  an  act  due  to  un- 
known intelHgent  and  Hving  agencies  operating  in  a  self-willed 
and  unpredictable  manner,  thus  effecting  changes  that  would 
not  otherwise  have  occurred  and  that  are  not  in  the  regular 
course  of  nature.  The  easiest  example  to  think  of  is  one  wherein 
the  lower  animals  are  chiefly  concerned ;  for  instance,  consider 
the  case  of  the  community  of  an  ant  hill,  on  a  lonely  uninhabited 
island,  undisturbed  for  centuries,  whose  dweUing  is  kicked  over 
one  day  by  a  shipwrecked  sailor.  They  had  reason  to  suppose 
III  [6] 


THE  BELIEFS 

that  events  were  uniform,  and  all  their  difficulties  ancestrally 
known,  but  they  are  perturbed  by  an  uninteUigible  miracle. 
A  different  illustration  is  afforded  by  the  presence  of  an  ob- 
trusive but  unsuspected  live  insect  in  a  galvanometer  or  other 
measuring  instrument  in  a  physical  laboratory;  whereby  metri- 
cal observations  would  be  complicated,  and  all  regularity  per- 
turbed in  a  puzzHng  and  capricious  and,  to  half-instructed 
knowledge,  supernatural,  or  even  diaboHcal,  manner.  Not  dis- 
similar are  some  of  the  asserted  events  in  a  Seance  Room. 

(3)  Another  may  use  the  term  "miracle"  to  mean  the  utih- 
zation  of  unknown  laws,  say  of  heaHng  or  of  communication; 
laws  unknown  and  unformulated,  but  instinctively  put  into 
operation  by  mental  activity  of  some  kind — sometimes  through 
the  unconscious  influence  of  so-called  self-suggestion,  sometimes 
through  the  activity  of  another  mind,  or  through  the  personal 
agency  of  highly  gifted  beings,  operating  on  others ;  laws  where- 
by time  and  space  appear  temporarily  suspended,  or  extraor- 
dinary cures  are  effected,  or  other  effects  produced,  such  as 
the  levitations  and  other  physical  phenomena  related  of  the 
saints. 

(4)  Another  may  incorporate  with  the  word  "miracle"  a 
still  further  infusion  of  theory,  and  may  mean  always  a  direct 
interposition  of  Divine  Providence,  whereby  at  some  one  time 
and  place  a  perfectly  unique  occurrence  is  brought  about,  which 
is  out  of  relation  with  the  established  order  of  things,  is  not  due 
to  what  has  gone  before,  and  is  not  likely  to  occur  again.  The 
most  striking  examples  of  what  can  be  claimed  under  this  head 
are  connected  with  the  personality  of  Jesus  Christ,  notably  the 
Virgin  Birth  and  the  Empty  Tomb ;  by  which  I  mean  the  more 
material  and  controversial  aspects  of  those  generally  accepted 
doctrines — the  Incarnation  and  the  Resurrection. 

To  summarize  this  part,  the  four  categories  are:  (i)  A 
natural  or  orderly  though  unusual  portent,  (2)  a  disturbance 
due  to  unknown  live  or  capricious  agencies,  (3)  a  utilization  by 
mental  or  spiritual  power  of  unknown  laws,  (4)  direct  inter- 
position of  the  Deity. 


in  [7] 


THE   BELIEFS 
III 

ARGUMENTS  CONCERNING  THE   MIRACULOUS 

In  some  cases  an  argument  concerning  the  so-called  miracu- 
lous will  turn  upon  the  question  whether  such  things  are  theoreti- 
cally possible. 

In  other  cases  it  will  turn  upon  whether  or  not  they  have  ever 
actually  happened. 

In  a  third  case  the  argument  will  be  directed  to  the  question 
whether  they  happened  or  not  on  some  particular  occasion. 

And  in  a  fourth  case  the  argument  will  hinge  upon  the  par- 
ticular category  under  which  any  assigned  occurrence  is  to  be 
placed : 

For  instance  take  a  circumstance  which  undoubtedly  has 
occurred,  one  upon  the  actual  existence  of  which  there  can  be  no 
dispute,  and  yet  one  of  which  the  history  and  manner  is  quite 
unknown.  Take  for  instance  the  origin  of  life;  or  to  be  more 
definite,  say  the  origin  of  life  on  any  given  planet,  the  Earth  for 
instance.  There  is  practically  no  doubt  that  the  Earth  was 
once  a  hot  and  molten  and  sterile  globe.  There  is  no  doubt  at 
all  that  it  is  now  the  abode  of  an  immense  variety  of  Hving  or- 
ganic nature.  How  did  that  life  arise?  Is  it  an  event  to  be 
placed  under  head  (i),  as  an  unexpected  outcome  of  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  nature,  a  development  naturally  following  upon 
the  formation  of  extremely  complex  molecular  aggregates — pro- 
toplasm and  the  like — as  the  Earth  cooled ;  or  must  it  be  placed 
under  head  (4),  as  due  to  the  direct  Fiat  of  the  Eternal  ? 

Again,  take  the  existence  of  Christianity  as  a  living  force  in 
the  world  of  to-day.  This  is  based  upon  a  series  of  events  of 
undoubtedly  substantial  truth  centering  round  a  historical  per- 
sonage; under  which  category  is  that  to  be  placed?  Was  his 
advent  to  be  regarded  as  analogous  to  the  appearance  of  a  mighty 
genius  such  as  may  at  anytime  revolutionize  the  course  of  human 
history;  or  is  he  to  be  regarded  as  a  direct  manifestation  and 
incarnation  of  the  Deity  Himself  ? 

I  am  using  these  great  themes  as  illustrations  merely,  for  our 
oresent  purpose ;  I  have  no  intention  of  entering  upon  them  here 
in  [8] 


THE  BELIEFS 

and  now.  They  are  questions  which  have  been  asked,  and  pre- 
sumably answered,  again  and  again;  and  it  is  on  lines  such  as 
these  that  debates  concerning  the  miraculous  are  usually  con- 
ducted. But  what  I  want  to  say  is  that  so  long  as  we  keep  the 
discussion  on  these  lines,  and  ask  this  sort  of  question,  though 
we  shall  succeed  in  raising  difficulties,  we  shall  not  progress  far 
toward  a  solution  of  any  of  them :  nor  shall  we  gain  much  aid 
toward  life. 

IV 

LAW  AND  GUIDANCE 

The  way  to  progress  is  not  thus  to  lose  ourselves  in  detail  and 
in  confusing  estimates  of  possibiHties,  but  to  consider  two  main 
issues  which  may  very  briefly  be  formulated  thus :     * 
(i)  Are  we  to  believe  in  unbreakable  law  ? 
(2)  Are  we  to  beheve  in  spiritual  guidance  ? 

If  we  accept  only  the  first  of  these  issues  we  accept  an  orderly 
and  systematic  universe,  with  no  arbitrary  cataclysms  and  no 
breaks  in  its  essential  continuity.  Catastrophes  occur,  but  they 
occur  in  the  regular  course  of  events,  they  are  not  brought  about 
by  capricious  and  lawless  agencies;  they  are  a  part  of  the  entire 
cosmos,  regulated  on  the  principle  of  unity  and  uniformity: 
though  to  the  dwellers  in  any  time  and  place,  from  whose  senses 
most  of  the  cosmos  is  hidden,  they  may  appear  to  be  sudden  and 
portentous  dislocations  of  natural  order. 

So  much  is  granted  if  we  accept  the  first  of  the  above  issues. 
If  we  accept  the  second,  we  accept  a  purposeful  and  directed 
universe,  carrying  on  its  evolutionary  processes  from  an  inevit- 
able past  into  an  anticipated  future  with  a  definite  aim;  not  left 
to  the  random  control  of  inorganic  forces  hke  a  motor-car  which 
has  lost  its  driver,  but  permeated  throughout  by  mind  and  inten- 
tion and  foresight  and  will.  Not  mere  energy,  but  constantly 
directed  energy — the  energy  being  controlled  by  something 
which  is  not  energy,  nor  akin  to  energy,  something  which  pre- 
sumably is  immanent  in  the  universe  and  is  akin  to  life  and 
mind. 

The  alternative  to  these  two  beliefs  is  a  universe  of  random 
m  [9] 


THE   BELIEFS 

chance  and  capricious  disorder,  not  a  cosmos  or  universe  at  all — 
a  multiverse  rather;  consequently  I  take  it  that  we  all  hold  to 
one  or  other  of  these  two  behefs.  But  do  we  and  can  we  hold 
to  both? 

So  far  as  I  conceive  my  present  mission,  it  is  to  urge  that 
the  two  behefs  are  not  inconsistent  with  each  other,  and  that  we 
may  and  should  contemplate  and  gradually  feel  our  way  toward 
accepting  both. 

(i)  We  must  realize  that  the  Whole  is  a  single  undeviat- 

ing  law-saturated  cosmos; 
(2)  But  we  must  also  reahze  that  the  Whole  consists  not 
of  matter  and  motion  alone,  nor  yet  of  spirit  and  will 
alone,  but  of  both  and  all ;  we  must  even  yet  further, 
and  enormously,  enlarge  our  conception  of  what  the 
Whole  contains. 
Scientific  men  have  preached  the  first  of  these  desiderata,  but 
have  been  liable  to  take  a  narrow  view  regarding  the  second. 
Keenly  ahve  on  law,  and  knowledge,  and  material  fact,  they  have 
been  occasionally  bhnd  to  art,  to  emotion,  to  poetry,  and  to  the 
higher  mental  and  spiritual  environment  which  inspires  and 
glorifies  the  realm  of  knowledge. 

The  temptation  of  rehgious  men  has  also  lain  in  the  direc- 
tion of  too  narrow  an  exclusiveness,  for  they  have  been  so 
occupied  with  their  own  conceptions  of  the  fulness  of  things 
that  they  have  failed  to  grasp  what  is  meant  by  the  first  of 
the  above  requirements;  they  have  allowed  the  emotional 
ccMitent  to  overpower  the  intellectual,  and  have  too  often 
ignored,  disliked,  and  practically  rejected  an  integral  por- 
tion of  the  scheme — appearing  to  desire,  what  no  one  can 
really  wish  for,  a  world  of  uncertainty  and  caprice,  where 
effects  can  be  produced  without  adequate  cause,  and  where 
the  connection  of  antecedent  and  consequent  can  be  arbitrarily 
dislocated. 

The  same  vice  has  therefore  dogged  the  steps  of  both  classes 
of  men.  The  acceptance  of  miracle,  in  the  crude  sense  of 
arbitrary  intervention  and  special  providence,  is  appropriate  to 
those  who  feel  enmeshed  in  the  grip  of  inorganic  and  mechanical 
law,  without  being  able  to  reconcile  it  with  the  idea  of  constant 
in  [10] 


THE   BELIEFS 

guidance  and  intelligent  control.  And  a  denial  of  miracle,  in 
every  sense,  that  is  of  all  providential  guidance,  and  all  control- 
ling intelligence,  may  also  be  the  result  of  the  very  same  f  eehng, 
experienced  by  people  who  are  conscious  of  just  the  same  kind  of 
inability — people  who  cannot  recognize  a  directing  intelligence 
in  the  midst  of  law  and  order,  and  hence  regard  the  absence  of 
dislocation  and  interference  as  a  mark  of  the  inorganic,  the 
mechanical,  the  inexorable :  wherefore  the  denial  of  miracle  has 
often  led  to  a  sort  of  practical  atheism  and  to  an  assertion  of  the 
valuelcssness  of  prayer. 

But  to  those  who  are  able  to  combine  the  acceptance  of  both 
the  above  faiths,  prayer  is  part  of  the  orderly  cosmos,  and  may  be 
an  efficient  portion  of  the  guiding  and  controUing  will;  some- 
what as  the  desire  of  the  inhabitants  of  a  town  for  a  civic  im- 
provement may  be  a  part  of  the  agency  which  ultimately  brings 
it  about,  no  matter  whether  the  city  be  representatively  or  auto- 
cratically governed. 

The  two  beliefs  cannot  be  logically  and  effectively  combined 
by  those  who  think  of  themselves  as  something  detached  from 
and  outside  the  cosmos,  operating  on  it  externally  and  seeking 
to  modify  its  manifestations  by  vain  petitions  addressed  to  a 
system  of  ordered  force.  To  such  persons  the  above  proposi- 
tions must  seem  contradictory  or  mutually  exclusive.  But  if  we 
can  grasp  the  idea  that  we  ourselves  are  an  intimate  part  of  the 
whole  scheme,  that  our  wishes  and  desires  are  a  part  of  the  con- 
trolling and  guiding  will — then  our  mental  action  cannot  but  be 
efficient,  if  we  exercise  it  in  accordance  with  the  highest  and 
truest  laws  of  our  being. 

V 

HUMAN  EXPERIENCE 

Let  us  survey  our  position : 

We  find  ourselves  for  a  few  score  years  incarnate  intelligences 
on  this  planet;  we  have  not  always  been  here,  and  we  shall  not 
always  be  here :  we  are  here,  in  fact,  each  of  us,  for  but  a  very 
short  period,  but  we  can  study  the  conditions  of  existence  while 
here,  and  we  perceive  clearly  that  a  certain  amount  of  guidance 
ni  [ii] 


THE   BELIEFS 

and  control  is  in  our  hands.  For  better  for  worse  we  can,  and 
our  legislators  do,  influence  the  destinies  of  the  planet.  The 
process  is  called  "making  history."  We  can  all,  even  the 
humblest,  to  some  extent  influence  the  destinies  of  individuals 
with  whom  we  come  into  contact.  We  have  therefore  a  certain 
sense  of  power  and  responsibihty. 

It  is  not  hkely  that  we  are  the  only,  or  the  highest,  intelligent 
agents  in  the  whole  wide  universe,  nor  that  we  possess  faculties 
and  powers  denied  to  all  else;  nor  is  it  likely  that  our  own  ac- 
tivity will  be  always  as  Hmited  as  it  is  now.  The  Parable  of  the 
Talents  is  full  of  meaning,  and  it  contains  a  meaning  that  is  not 
often  brought  out. 

It  is  absurd  to  deny  the  attributes  of  guidance  and  inteUigcnce 
and  personality  and  love  to  the  Whole,  seeing  that  we  are  part  of 
the  Whole,  and  are  personally  aware  of  what  we  mean  by  those 
words  in  ourselves.  These  attributes  are  existent,  therefore,  and 
cannot  be  denied ;  cannot  be  denied  even  to  the  Deity. 

Is  the  planet  subject  to  intefligent  control  ?  We  know  that  it 
is :  we  ourselves  can  change  the  course  of  rivers  for  predestined 
ends,  we  can  make  highways,  can  unite  oceans,  can  devise  in- 
ventions, can  make  new  compounds,  can  transmute  species,  can 
plan  fresh  variety  of  organic  Hfe;  we  can  create  works  of  art; 
we  can  embody  new  ideas  and  lofty  emotions  in  forms  of  lan- 
guage and  music,  and  can  leave  them  as  Platonic  ofi'spring 
{vide  Symposium)  to  remote  posterity.  Our  power  is  doubtless 
limited,  but  we  can  surely  learn  to  do  far  more  than  we  have  yet 
so  far  in  the  infancy  of  humanity  accomplished ;  more  even  than 
we  have  yet  conjectured  as  within  the  range  of  possibility. 

Our  progress  already  has  been  considerable.  It  is  but  a 
moderate  time  since  our  greatest  men  were  chipping  flints  and 
carving  bones  into  the  hkeness  of  reindeer.  More  recently  they 
became  able  to  build  cathedrals  and  make  poems.  Now  we  are 
momentarily  diverted  from  immortal  pursuits  by  vivid  interest 
in  that  kind  of  competition  which  has  replaced  the  competition 
of  the  sword,  and  by  those  extraordinary  inequahties  of  posses- 
sion and  privilege  which  have  resulted  from  the  invention  of  an 
indestructible  and  transmissible  form  of  riches,  a  form  over 
which  neither  moth  nor  rust  has  any  power.  We  raise  an  in- 
m  [  12  ] 


THE   BELIEFS 

cense  of  smoke,  and  offer  sacrifices  of  squalor  and  ugliness,  in 
worship  of  this  new  idol.  But  it  will  pass;  human  life  is  not 
meant  to  continue  as  it  is  now  in  city  slums ;  nor  is  the  strenuous 
futihty  of  mere  accumulation  likely  to  satisfy  people  when  once 
they  have  been  really  educated ;  the  world  is  beautiful,  and  may 
be  far  more  widely  happy  than  it  has  been  yet.  Those  who  have 
preached  this  hitherto  have  been  heard  with  deaf  ears,  but 
some  day  we  shall  awake  to  a  sense  of  our  true  planetary  im- 
portance and  shall  recognize  the  higher  possibihties  of  existence. 
Then  shall  we  reahze  and  practically  beheve  what  is  involved  in 
those  words  of  poetic  insight : 

'*  The  heaven,  even  the  heavens  are  the  Lord's :  but  the  earth 
hath  he  given  to  the  children  of  men." 

There  is  a  vast  truth  in  this  yet  to  be  discovered ;  power  and  in- 
fluence and  responsibility  lie  before  us,  appalHng  in  their  magni- 
tude, and  as  yet  we  are  but  children  playing  on  the  stage  before 
the  curtain  is  rolled  up  for  the  drama  in  which  we  are  to  take 
part. 

But  we  are  not  left  to  our  own  devices:  we  of  this  living 
generation  are  not  alone  in  the  universe.  What  we  call  the  in- 
dividual is  strengthened  by  elements  emerging  from  the  social 
whole  out  of  which  he  is  born.  We  are  not  things  of  yesterday, 
nor  of  to-morrow.  We  do  not  indeed  remember  our  past,  we 
are  not  aware  of  our  future,  but  in  common  with  everything  else 
we  must  have  had  a  past  and  must  be  going  to  have  a  future. 
Some  day  we  may  find  ourselves  able  to  reahze  both. 

Meanwhile  what  has  been  our  experience  here?  We  have 
not  been  left  sohtary.  Every  newcomer  to  the  planet,  however 
helpless  and  strange  he  be,  finds  friends  awaiting  him,  devoted 
and  self-sacrificing  friends,  eager  to  care  for  and  protect  his  in- 
fancy and  to  train  him  in  the  ways  of  this  curious  world.  It  is 
typical  of  what  goes  on  throughout  conscious  existence;  the 
guidance  which  we  exert,  and  to  which  we  are  subject  now,  is  but 
a  phase  of  something  running  through  the  universe;  and  when 
the  time  comes  for  us  to  quit  this  sphere  and  enter  some  larger 
field  of  action,  I  doubt  not  that  we  shall  find  there  also  that  kind- 
ness and  help  and  patience  and  love,  without  which  no  existence 
would  be  tolerable  or  even  at  some  stages  possible. 

«l  [13]  , 


THE  BELIEFS 

Miracles  lie  all  around  us:  only  they  are  not  miraculous. 
Special  providences  envelop  us:  only  they  are  not  special. 
Prayer  is  a  means  of  communication  as  natural  and  as  simple 
as  is  speech. 

Realize  that  you  are  part  of  a  great,  orderly,  and  mutually 
helpful  cosmos,  that  you  are  not  stranded  or  isolated  in  a  foreign 
universe,  but  that  you  are  part  of  it  and  closely  akin  to  it;  and 
your  sense  of  sympathy  will  be  enlarged,  your  power  of  free 
communication  will  be  opened,  and  the  heartfelt  aspiration  and 
communion  and  petition  that  we  call  prayer  will  come  as  easily 
and  as  naturally  as  converse  with  those  human  friends  and  rela- 
tions whose  visible  bodily  presence  gladdens  and  enriches  your 
present  Hf  e. 

VI 

SUMMARY 

The  atmosphere  of  religion  should  be  recognized  as  envelop- 
ing and  permeating  everything;  it  should  not  be  specially  or 
exclusively  sought  as  an  emanation  from  signs  and  wonders. 
Strange  and  ultranormal  things  may  happen,  and  are  well 
worthy  of  study,  but  they  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  especially 
holy.  Some  of  them  may  represent  either  extension  or  survival 
of  human  faculty,  while  others  may  be  an  inevitable  endowment 
or  attribute  of  a  sufficiently  lofty  character;  but  none  of  them 
can  be  accepted  without  investigation.  Testimony  concerning 
such  things  is  to  be  treated  in  a  sceptical  and  yet  open-minded 
spirit;  the  results  of  theory  and  experiment  are  to  be  utihzed,  as 
in  any  other  branch  of  natural  knowledge;  and  indiscriminate 
dogmatic  rejection  is  as  inappropriate  as  wholesale  uncritical 
acceptance. 

The  bearing  on  the  hopes  and  fears  of  humanity  of  such  un- 
usual facts  as  can  be  verified  may  be  considerable,  but  they  bear 
no  exceptional  witness  to  guidance  and  control.  Guidance  and 
control,  if  admitted  at  all,  must  be  regarded  as  constant  and  con- 
tinuous; and  it  is  just  this  uniform  character  that  makes  them 
so  difficult  to  recognize.  It  is  always  difficult  to  perceive  or 
apprehend  anything  which  is  perfectly  regular  and  continuous. 
m  [  14  ] 


THE   BELIEFS 

Those  fish,  for  instance,  which  are  submerged  in  ocean-depths, 
beyond  the  reach  of  waves  and  tides,  are  probably  utterly  un- 
conscious of  the  existence  of  water;  and,  however  intelligent, 
they  can  have  but  httle  reason  to  beHeve  in  that  medium,  not- 
withstanding that  their  whole  being,  Hfe,  and  motion,  is  de- 
pendent upon  it  from  instant  to  instant.  The  motion  of  the 
earth,  again,  furious  rush  though  it  is— fifty  times  faster  than  a 
cannon  ball — is  quite  inappreciable  to  our  senses;  it  has  to  be 
inferred  from  celestial  observations,  and  it  was  strenuously  dis- 
beheved  by  the  agnostics  of  an  earlier  day. 

Uniformity  is  always  difhcult  to  grasp;  our  senses  are  not 
made  for  it,  and  yet  it  is  characteristic  of  everything  that  is  most 
efficient;  jerks  and  jolts  are  easy  to  appreciate,  but  they  do  not 
conduce  to  progress.  Steady  motion  is  what  conveys  us  on  our 
way,  collisions  are  but  a  retarding  influence.  The  seeker  after 
miracle,  in  the  exceptional  and  narrow  or  exclusive  sense,  is 
pining  for  a  catastrophe ;  the  investigator  of  miracle,  in  the  con- 
tinuous and  broad  or  comprehensive  sense,  has  the  universe  for 
a  laboratory. 


"RELIGION  AND  PHYSICAL  SCIENCE" 

BY  THE 

DUKE  OF  NORTHUMBERLAND 

Of  all  the  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  the  attitude  of 
thoughtful  men  in  the  course  of  the  last  thirty  or  forty  years  none 
are  more  striking  than  those  affecting  the  relations  between 
religion  and  physical  science.  The  keen  controversies  which 
formerly  raged  between  the  two  schools  of  thought,  arjd  the 
bitterness  thereby  engendered,  have  become  things  of  the  past, 
and  the  mutual  distrust  which  certainly  exercised  a  baneful  in- 
fluence upon  both  parties  has  been  greatly  diminished,  if  it  has 
not  altogether  disappeared.  To  what  is  this  great  change  due  ? 
Is  it  owing  to  lukewarmness,  and  to  the  indifference  of  either 

lu  [  15  ] 


THE   BELIEFS 

of  the  combatants  to  their  own  pursuits  and  doctrines  ?  Is  it 
because  the  faith  of  either  in  their  own  theories  has  been  under- 
mined ?  Has  victory  declared  itself  so  palpably  on  one  side  that 
the  other  is  vanquished,  and  silenced,  if  not  convinced?  Or 
does  each  disputant  take  a  saner  and  more  appreciative  view  of 
his  own  position  and  sphere,  and  that  of  his  opponent,  being  con- 
tent to  perform  his  own  work  without  burdening  himself  with 
criticism  of  the  other  ? 

These  are  very  grave  and  vital  questions  for  all  those  who  are 
strongly  impressed  with  the  importance  of  either  of  these  great 
branches  of  human  thought  and  effort,  and  however  little  we  may 
be  able  to  appreciate  in  our  own  day  their  full  significance  there 
can  be  Httle  doubt  that  on  the  answer  to  them  must  depend  the 
legitimacy  of  our  hopes  for  the  advance  and  improvement  of  the 
highest  interests  of  mankind. 

It  is  this,  among  many  other  things,  which  invests  with  pecul- 
iar importance  the  able  address  delivered  by  the  president  of  the 
British  Association  at  a  recent  meeting  at  Belfast.  The  distin- 
guished services  which  the  protracted  and  indefatigable  labors  of 
Professor  Dewar  have  rendered  to  science,  and  the  advances 
which  it  has  made  under  his  guidance,  together  with  his  well- 
known  tolerance  of  opinion  and  width  of  grasp,  attach  the  ut- 
most weight  and  authority  to  any  views  he  may  express.  Con- 
sequently it  is  very  noteworthy  that  he  should  on  that  occasion 
have  called  attention  in  a  marked  manner  to  what  he  fitly  de- 
scribes as  the  "  epoch-making  deliverance  "  of  Prof  cssor  Tyndall 
in  the  same  city  some  thirty  years  ago,  and  should  have  dwelt 
with  special  emphasis  on  his  declaration  on  behalf  of  men  of 
science  that  '*we  claim,  and  we  shall  wrest,  from  theology  the 
entire  domain  of  cosmological  theory."  Professor  Dewar  adds 
that  this  ''  claim  has  been  practically,  though  often  unconsciously, 
conceded."  In  other  words,  if  I  understand  the  Professor 
rightly,  the  somewhat  militant  dictum  of  Tyndall  has  been 
justified  by  the  defeat  of  the  theologian,  and  his  abandonment 
since  the  year  1874  of  a  field  he  has  been  compelled  to  admit  he 
had  no  right  to  occupy.  This  must  be  a  somewhat  starthng 
assertion  for  some  persons  who,  while  sincerely  interested  in  the 
results  of  scientific  research,  and  profoundly  sensible  of  the  value 
m  [16] 


THE   BELIEFS 

of  the  studies  of  those  gifted  men  who  devote  themselves  to  it,  are 
nevertheless  firmly  attached  to  the  current  theology  of  the  day, 
and  are  absolutely  unaware  of  having  resigned  an  inch  of  its 
territory. 

It  is,  therefore,  justifiable,  and,  indeed,  necessary,  to  exam- 
ine this  declaration  of  Tyndall's  a  Httle  closely,  and  to  ascertain 
exactly  what  it  means  before  inquiring  whether  its  prog- 
nostics have  been  actually  fulfilled.  But  as  it  is  always  haz- 
ardous to  criticise  any  single  sentence  of  an  utterance  without 
giving  its  context  it  may  be  well  to  quote  the  whole  passage. 

"The  impregnable  position  of  science  may  be  described  in  a 
few  words.  We  claim,  and  we  shall  wrest,  from  theology  the 
entire  domain  of  cosmological  theory.  All  schemes  and  systems 
which  thus  infringe  upon  the  domain  of  science  must,  in  so  jar 
as  they  do  this,  submit  to  its  control,  and  rehnquish  all  thought  of 
controlling  it.  Acting  otherwise  proved  disastrous  in  the  past, 
and  is  simply  fatuous  to-day.  Every  system  which  would  escape 
the  fate  of  an  organism  too  rigid  to  adjust  itself  to  its  environ- 
ment, must  be  plastic  to  the  extent  that  the  growth  of  knowledge 
demands."^ 

Now  let  us  revert  to  the  sentence  of  the  above  which  is  quoted 
by  Professor  Dewar,  and  is  indeed  the  text  of  that  part  of  his 
address;  "We  claim,  and  we  shall  wrest,  from  theology  the  en- 
tire domain  of  cosmological  theory." 

"Theology"  is  the  science  which  treats  of  the  nature,  attri- 
butes, and  modes  of  working  of  the  Deity;  "cosmology"  is  the 
science  which  deals  with  the  origin,  quahties,  and  properties, 
active  or  passive,  of  the  material  world;  a  "domain"  is  either  the 
lordship  over  a  territory,  or  the  territory  under  rule.  And,  put 
into  less  figurative  and  formal  language,  these  words  mean  that 
the  science  which  treats  of  the  nature,  attributes,  and  modes  of 
the  working  of  Deity  has  nothing  to  tell  us  of  the  origin,  quali- 
ties, and  properties  of  the  material  world,  can  throw  no  light 
upon  them,  and  is,  therefore,  not  worth  listening  to  on  the 
point. 

Now  one  of  three  things  must  be  true.     Either  there  is  no 
Deity,  in  which  case  there  can  be  no  science  about  Him,  and  it  is 
^  See  Forty-fourth  Report  of  the  British  Association  (1874),  p.  xcv, 
III  [17] 


THE   BELIEFS 

impossible  to  wrest  anything  from  that  which  has  no  existence; 
or  there  is  a  Deity,  but  we  can  know  nothing  about  Him,  in 
which  case  there  can  equally  be  no  science  of  theology;  or, 
thirdly,  there  is  at  any  rate  a  Great  First  Cause,  who  has  re- 
vealed Himself  to  some  extent  to  man,  and  of  whose  attributes, 
etc.,  man  can  thus  form  some  idea.  If  this  last  be  the  true  state 
of  the  case  (and  we  may  gather  from  Tyndall's  address  that  this 
was  the  direction  in  which  his  own  convictions  pointed),  surely 
every  scientist  must  regard  the  material  universe  as  one  of  the 
most  striking  revelations  of  its  supreme  author  which  He  has 
afforded. 

And  thus  we  are  brought  to  this  signification  of  Tyndall's 
dictum,  viz.,  that  the  students  of  cosmology  claim  that  the  most 
striking  revelation  of  Himself  which  God  has  given  to  man  is  no 
part  of  that  science  which  deals  with  His  nature  and  attributes. 
This  seems  hardly  a  scientific  or  logical  position.  Theology  may 
or  may  not  have  grappled  satisfactorily  with  the  problems.  She 
may  need  direction  and  Hmitation,  but  she  can  be  no  more  dis- 
possessed by  physical  science  than  the  starry  heavens  can  be 
shut  to  Galileo  by  the  Index  Expurgatorius. 

An  analogous,  though  not  an  identical,  relation  to  that 
between  theology  and  physical  science  may  be  traced  between 
history  and  archaeology.  For  many  ages  history  held  its  own 
almost,  if  not  entirely,  unaided  by  the  researches  and  discoveries 
of  the  archaeologist.  History  so  isolated  not  infrequently  drew 
unwarranted  conclusions,  not  so  much  on  her  theoretical  and 
aesthetic  side  (for  the  philosophy  of  history  and  poHtics  has  ad- 
vanced but  slowly)  as  in  her  facts,  and  especially  in  their  details. 
And  she  left,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  still  leaves,  much  un- 
accounted for  and  unexplained.  Archaeology,  dealing  with  the 
material  part,  the  dry  bones,  of  the  subject,  has  corrected  some 
of  her  conclusions.  But  what  would  be  thought  of  an  attempt  to 
wrest  from  history  the  whole  domain  of  archaeology  for  this 
reason?  How  great  would  have  been  the  loss  if  Layard  and 
Flinders  Petrie,  Sayce  and  Evans  had  turned  Herodotus  out  of 
court !  For  many  years  the  most  suggestive  pages  of  the  Father 
of  History  have  seemed  as  idle  tales ;  and  those  too  impatient  to 
tolerate  an  apparent  paradox,  or  to  wait  for  a  solution  of  a 
III  [  i8  ] 


THE   BELIEFS 

startling  statement,  dubbed  him  the  father  of  lies.  But  wider 
knowledge  has  largely  vindicated  the  Greek,  and  the  process  is 
still  going  on.  It  is,  for  instance,  only  quite  recently  that  the 
excavations  in  Crete  have  verified  the  accuracy  of  the  stories  of 
Minos,  the  labyrinth,  and  the  Minotaur. 

And  just  as  the  day  is  dawning  when  not  only  is  archaeology 
corroborating  history,  but  history  is,  in  innumerable  cases,  inter- 
preting and  vivifying  antiquarian  discoveries  in  a  very  unex- 
pected manner,  so  there  are  many  persons  who  are  quite  willing 
to  bide  in  patience  for  the  time  when  theology  will  illuminate 
many  a  scientific  problem,  and  when  science  shall  throw  an  un- 
looked-for hght  on  theology. 

The  truth  is  that  there  are  two  classes  of  minds,  each  of 
which  finds  it  extremely  difiicult,  not  merely  to  sympathize  with, 
but  to  conceive  the  attitude  of  the  other.  The  one  is  slow  to 
beheve  anything  the  truth  of  which  has  not  been  either  proved 
experimentally  or  logically  shown  to  be  probable.  The  other 
experiences  no  difficulty  in  saying  "  credo  quia  impossibile,"  and 
indeed  regards  such  an  attitude  in  the  finite  postulated  by  the 
existence  of  the  infinite.  For  both  these  modes  of  thought  there 
can  be  for  many  people  no  common  and  simultaneous  acceptance. 
But  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  either  should  attack  the 
other.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  the  theologian  assaulted  the  scien- 
tist with  great  success,  having  the  "bayonets"  on  his  side. 
Thirty  years  ago  the  tables  were  turned,  and  the  scientist's  on- 
slaught on  the  theologian  is  expressed  by  Tyndall  in  a  tone  as 
decided  as  that  of  Urban  the  Eighth.  Each  wished  to  **  wrest  the 
domain  of  cosmological  theory  "  from  the  other,  and  neither  had 
the  smallest  right  to  do  anything  of  the  sort! 

Another  great  obstacle  to  a  common  understanding  is  a 
verbal  one.  All  men's  thoughts  are  better  than  their  words. 
Every  one  knows  what  it  is  to  have  ideas  passing  through  the 
mind  which  the  language  at  the  thinker's  command  is  totally  in- 
adequate to  express.  In  the  case  of  an  exact  science,  this  diffi- 
culty is  in  some  degree  met  by  the  coining  of  new  words,  a  prac- 
tice so  prevalent  in  the  present  day  as  to  have  lately  called  forth 
a  vigorous  protest  in  some  quarters.  But  theology  is  not  an 
exact  science,  and  its  subject-matter  is  to  a  large  extent  in- 
III  [  19  ] 


THE   BELIEFS 

capable  of  precise  definition,  as  the  history  of  all  sects  and 
heresies  abundantly  shows.  Words  are  commonly  used  in  a 
vague  and  general  sense,  and  this  vagueness  is  intolerable  to 
minds  trained  in  the  schools  of  experimental  research. 

The  true  eirenicon  consists  in  the  frank  recognition  of  these 
facts,  and  of  the  right  of  either  party  to  traverse  the  whole  do- 
main of  human  thought  without  an  indictment  of  trespass,  each 
retaining  its  own  opinion  of  the  abihty  of  the  other  to  discover 
and  develop  the  resources  of  that  domain,  but  without  inter- 
ference with  its  proceedings.  If  this  were  fully  recognized, 
science  would  at  any  rate  be  the  gainer  by  her  liberty  to  attract 
an  audience  from  among  those  who,  being  much  affected  by 
theological  and  ecclesiastical  influences,  are  scared  by  a  militant 
attitude  on  the  part  of  the  scientist. 

There  is  perhaps  no  better  example  of  the  character  and 
value  of  such  a  position  than  the  bearing  which  it  would  have  on 
the  acceptance  of  the  great  doctrine  of  evolution.  As  a  working 
hypothesis  which  affords  from  the  purely  material  side  of  the 
question  a  probable  explanation  of  a  vast  body  of  fact,  and  which 
furnishes  an  admirable  basis  for  the  coordination  and  classifica- 
tion of  cosmical  phenomena,  it  receives  the  adhesion  of  almost 
every  one  at  all  qualified  to  form  an  opinion.  And  this  is  all  that 
science  need,  or  indeed  does,  demand  for  her  most  briUiant 
generahzations.  Let  us  hear  Professor  Dewar's  finely  ex- 
pressed statement  of  her  posture. 

"It  is  only  poverty  of  language,"  he  says,  "and  the  necessity 
of  compendious  expression,  that  oblige  the  man  of  science  to 
resort  to  metaphor,  and  to  speak  of  the  laws  of  Nature.  In 
reality,  he  does  not  pretend  to  formulate  any  laws  for  Nature, 
since  to  do  so  would  be  to  assume  a  knowledge  of  the  inscrutable 
cause  from  which  alone  such  laws  could  emanate.  When  he 
speaks  of  a  'law  of  Nature'  he  simply  indicates  a  sequence  of 
events  which,  so  far  as  his  experience  goes,  is  invariable,  and 
which  therefore  enables  him  to  predict,  to  a  certain  extent,  what 
will  happen  in  given  circumstances.  But  however  seemingly 
bold  may  be  the  speculation  in  which  he  permits  himself  to  in- 
dulge, he  does  not  claim  for  his  best  hypothesis  more  than  a  pro- 
visional vaHdity.  He  does  not  forget  that  to-morrow  may  bring 
m  [20] 


THE  BELIEFS 

a  new  experience  compelling  him  to  recast  the  hypothesis  of  to- 
day. This  plasticity  of  scientific  thought,  depending  on  rev- 
erent recognition  of  the  vastness  of  the  unknown,  is  oddly  made  a 
matter  of  reproach  by  the  very  people  who  harp  upon  the  Hmita- 
tions  of  human  knowledge." 

But  the  theologian  approaches  the  matter  from  another 
standpoint.  He  is  accustomed  to  resolve  problems  according  to 
what  he  considers  to  be  their  absolute  and  abstract  truth  or 
falsehood,  and  he  asks,  not  whether  *'so  far  as  experience  goes'' 
the  theory  of  evolution  holds  good,  but  whether  it  is  in  fact  the 
true  explanation  of  the  material  world  as  we  see  it,  and  how  far 
it  is  so.  Is  it  not  evident  that  science  cannot,  and  does  not  pro- 
fess to,  give  an  answer?  But  two  things  are  plain.  That  en- 
vironment does  modify  the  type  of  living  organisms  cannot  be 
denied  by  any  one.  That  all  such  organisms  have  been  evolved 
from  one  primordial  form  cannot  be  affirmed  with  any  certainty. 

Between  these  two  extremes  lies  an  ocean  of  possibilities. 
Each  man  will  adopt  his  position  partly  according  to  the  char- 
acter of  his  own  mind,  partly  according  to  the  value  he  attaches 
to  abstract  doctrines,  partly  according  to  his  capacity  for  collect- 
ing evidence  and  for  weighing  it  fairly.  Why  should  he  not  hold 
it  without  insisting  that  his  neighbor  should  assume  it  also? 
Why  should  not  the  man  who  cannot  accept  the  Darwinian 
doctrine  as  the  real  explanation  of  the  problems  it  claims  to 
solve,  entertain  it  as  a  working  hypothesis  ?  Why  should  the 
Darwinian  wrest  the  domain  of  cosmological  theory  from  him, 
when  he  himself  can  claim  nothing  more  for  his  best  hypothesis 
about  the  cosmos  than  provisional  validity  ? 

Professor  Dewar  asserts  that  science  adopts  a  humble  and  a 
reverent  attitude.  He  confesses  on  her  behalf  her  "ignorance  of 
the  ultimate  nature  of  matter,  of  the  ultimate  nature  of  energy, 
and  still  more  of  the  origin  and  ultimate  synthesis  of  the  two." 
Nay,  further,  he  regards  the  mystery  of  matter  as  inscrutable. 
One  of  the  greatest  theologians  who  ever  existed  asserted  an 
equal  humiHty  for  theology  more  than  1800  years  ago,  when  he 
declared  that  he  saw  through  a  glass  darkly,  and  knew  only  in 
part.  Whether  the  theologian  and  the  natural  philosopher  will 
ever  see  perfectly  eye  to  eye  until  both  stand  face  to  face  with 
m  [  21  ] 


THE  BELIEFS 

Him  whose  actings  they  ahke  study,  and  know  even  as  they  are 
known,  may  well  be  doubted.  But  every  true  advance  achieved 
by  either  must  necessarily  tend  to  bring  them  to  the  same  goal, 
however  temporarily  divergent  the  winding  and  intricate  paths 
leading  thereto  may  appear  to  be.  Theology,  no  less  than 
natural  science  (to  quote  after  Professor  Dewar  the  noble  words 
of  Lord  Kelvin),  is  "bound  by  the  everlasting  law  of  honor  to 
face  fearlessly  every  problem  that  can  fairly  be  presented  to  it," 
and  to  assert  its  right  to  range  over  every  domain  of  theory  with 
absolute  freedom.  It  is  not  by  elbowing  out  her  sister  that 
either  will  promote  her  own  true  interests,  but  by  patient  and 
tolerant  occupation  and  development  of  a  field  amply  sufficient 
for  both  to  seek  to  advance  side  by  side  from  one  conquest  to 
another  till  both  shall  join  hands  in  the  full  enhghtenment  of 
the  perfect  day. 


m  [  22  ] 


IV 


THE  SUCCESSES 

FIVE    AMERICAN    CONTRIBUTIONS    TO 
CIVILIZATION'^ 

BY 

CHARLES  W.  ELIOT 

PRESIDENT  OP  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


TpROM  the  problems  which  menace  the  future j  we  turn  for 
''-  encouragement  to  the  successes  already  achieved.  As 
President  Eliot  himself  expresses  it,  '^Our  country^ s  future  perils, 
whether  visible  or  still  unimagined,  are  to  be  met  with  courage  and 
constancy  founded  firmly  on  these  popular  achievements  of  the 
pasty  How  great  these  achievements  have  really  been,  he  makes 
clear  to  us  in  the  following  address,  which  was  first  delivered 
before  the  Chautauqua  educational  conference  and  is  here  presented 
with  the  approval  of  President  Eliot  and  by  the  courtesy  of  his 
publishers,  the  Century  Company.  The  address  is  patriotic,  as 
we  all  are  patriotic,  but  it  is  wholly  free  from  any  extravagance  of 
praise  or  pride.  It  uses  nouns,  not  adjectives,  states  facts  with- 
out attempting  to  color  them.  It  is  thoughtful,  moderate,  and 
conservative. 

There  was  a  time  when  America  passed  through  an  era  of 
giant  adjectives,  of  self-congratulation,  self -consciousness,  perhaps 
of  boastjulness.  Recently,  however,  as  if  in  reaction  against  this 
excess,  many  of  our  citizens  have  swung  to  the  other  extreme.  We 
have  criticised  our  country,  and  decried  ourselves;  we  have  mag- 
nified every  fault.  Perhaps  we  have  been  more  pessimistic  of 
tongue  than  of  heart;  yet  the  fact  remains  that  our  country  has 
been  deliberately  underrated  by  those  who  love  it  best.  It  is  well 
*  Copyright  1897  by  the  Century  Co. 
IV  [I] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

then  that  a  man  who  has  the  confidence  oj  us  all,  a  man  serene  and 
aged,  the  dean  oj  American  education,  }or  thirty-eight  years  the 
president  of  our  largest  university,  should  speak  out  before  us  all, 
soberly  estimate  our  past,  and  tell  us  what  he  accepts,  what  pos- 
terity will  undoubtedly  accept,  as  to  the  worthiness  of  the  work  so 
far  accomplished  by  our  United  States, 

Looking  back  over  forty  centuries  of  history,  we  observe  that 
many  nations  have  made  characteristic  contributions  to  the  prog- 
ress of  civiHzation,  the  beneficent  effects  of  which  have  been 
permanent,  although  the  races  that  made  them  may  have  lost 
their  national  form  and  organization,  or  their  relative  standing 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  Thus,  the  Hebrew  race,  dur- 
ing many  centuries,  made  supreme  contributions  to  rehgious 
thought;  and  the  Greek,  during  the  brief  chmax  of  the  race,  to 
speculative  philosophy,  architecture,  sculpture,  and  the  drama. 
The  Roman  people  developed  mihtary  colonization,  aqueducts, 
roads  and  bridges,  and  a  great  body  of  pubhc  law,  large  parts 
of  which  still  survive ;  and  the  Itahans  of  the  middle  ages  and  the 
Renaissance  developed  ecclesiastical  organization  and  the  fine 
arts,  as  tributary  to  the  splendor  of  the  church  and  to  municipal 
luxury.  England,  for  several  centuries,  has  contributed  to  the 
institutional  development  of  representative  government  and 
pubHc  justice;  the  Dutch,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  made  a 
superb  struggle  for  free  thought  and  free  government ;  France, 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  taught  the  doctrine  of  individual  free- 
dom and  the  theory  of  human  rights;  and  Germany,  at  two 
periods  within  the  nineteenth  century,  fifty  years  apart,  proved 
the  vital  force  of  the  sentiment  of  nationality.  I  ask  you  to  con- 
sider with  me  what  characteristic  and  durable  contributions  the 
American  people  have  been  making  to  the  progress  of  civihzation. 

The  first  and  principal  contribution  to  which  I  shall  ask  your 
attention  is  the  advance  made  in  the  United  States,  not  in  theory 
only,  but  in  practice,  toward  the  abandonment  of  war  as  the 
means  of  settling  disputes  between  nations,  the  substitution  of 
discussion  and  arbitration,  and  the  avoidance  of  armaments. 
If  the  intermittent  Indian  fighting  and  the  brief  contest  with 
the  Barbary  corsairs  be  disregarded,  the  United  States  passed 
IV  [  2  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

through  only  four  years  and  a  quarter  of  international  war  in  the 
one  hundred  and  seven  years  following  the  adoption  of  the  Con- 
stitution. Within  the  same  period  the  United  States  have  been  a 
party  to  forty-seven  arbitrations — being  more  than  half  of  all 
that  have  taken  place  in  the  modern  world.  The  questions 
settled  by  these  arbitrations  have  been  just  such  as  have  com- 
monly caused  wars,  namely,  questions  of  boundary,  fisheries, 
damage  caused  by  war  or  civil  disturbances,  and  injuries  to 
commerce.  Some  of  them  were  of  great  magnitude,  the  four 
made  under  the  treaty  of  Washington  (May  8,  1871)  being  the 
most  important  that  have  ever  taken  place.  Confident  in  their 
strength,  and  relying  on  their  ability  to  adjust  international 
differences,  the  United  States  have  habitually  maintained,  by 
voluntary  enlistment  for  short  terms,  a  standing  army  and  a 
fleet  which,  in  proportion  to  the  population,  are  insignificant. 

The  beneficent  effects  of  this  American  contribution  to  civili- 
zation are  of  two  sorts :  in  the  first  place,  the  direct  evils  of  war 
and  of  preparations  for  war  have  been  diminished ;  and  secondly, 
the  influence  of  the  war  spirit  on  the  perennial  conflict  between 
the  rights  of  the  single  personal  unit  and  the  powers  of  the  multi- 
tude that  constitute  organized  society — or,  in  other  words, 
between  individual  freedom  and  collective  authority — has  been 
reduced  to  the  lowest  terms.  War  has  been,  and  still  is,  the 
school  of  collectivism,  the  warrant  of  tyranny.  Century  after 
century,  tribes,  clans,  and  nations  have  sacrificed  the  liberty 
of  the  individual  to  the  fundamental  necessity  of  being  strong  for 
combined  defence  or  attack  in  war.  Individual  freedom  is 
crushed  in  war,  for  the  nature  of  war  is  inevitably  despotic.  It 
says  to  the  private  person:  "  Obey  without  a  question,  even  unto 
death;  die  in  this  ditch,  without  knowing  why;  walk  into  that 
deadly  thicket;  mount  this  embankment,  behind  which  are  men 
who  will  try  to  kill  you,  lest  you  should  kill  them ;  make  part  of 
an  immense  machine  for  blind  destruction,  cruelty,  rapine,  and 
kilHng."  At  this  moment  every  young  man  in  Continental 
Europe  learns  the  lesson  of  absolute  miHtary  obedience,  and 
feels  himself  subject  to  this  crushing  power  of  militant  society, 
against  which  no  rights  of  the  individual  to  life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness  avail  anything.     This  pernicious  influence, 

IV  [3] 


THE  SUCCESSES 

inherent  in  the  social  organization  of  all  Continental  Europe 
during  many  centuries,  the  American  people  have  for  genera- 
tions escaped,  and  they  show  other  nations  how  to  escape  it.  I 
ask  your  attention  to  the  favorable  conditions  under  which  this 
contribution  of  the  United  States  to  civilization  has  been  made. 

There  has  been  a  deal  of  fighting  on  the  American  con- 
tinent during  the  past  three  centuries ;  but  it  has  not  been  of  the 
sort  which  most  imperils  liberty.  The  first  European  colonists 
who  occupied  portions  of  the  coast  of  North  America  encoun- 
tered in  the  Indians  men  of  the  Stone  Age,  who  ultimately  had  to 
be  resisted  and  quelled  by  force.  The  Indian  races  were  at  a 
stage  of  development  thousands  of  years  behind  that  of  the 
Europeans.  They  could  not  be  assimilated;  for  the  most  part 
they  could  not  be  taught  or  even  reasoned  with ;  with  a  few  ex- 
ceptions they  had  to  be  driven  away  by  prolonged  fighting,  or 
subdued  by  force  so  that  they  would  live  peaceably  with  the 
whites.  This  warfare,  however,  always  had  in  it  for  the  whites 
a  large  element  of  self-defence — the  homes  and  families  of  the 
settlers  were  to  be  defended  against  a  stealthy  and  pitiless  foe. 
Constant  exposure  to  the  attacks  of  savages  was  only  one  of  the 
formidable  dangers  and  difficulties  which  for  a  hundred  years 
the  early  settlers  had  to  meet,  and  which  developed  in  them 
courage,  hardiness,  and  persistence.  The  French  and  English 
wars  on  the  North  American  continent,  always  more  or  less 
mixed  with  Indian  warfare,  were  characterized  by  race  hatred 
and  religious  animosity — two  of  the  commonest  causes  of  war  in 
all  ages ;  but  they  did  not  tend  to  fasten  upon  the  English  colo- 
nists any  objectionable  public  authority,  or  to  contract  the  limits 
of  individual  liberty.  They  furnished  a  school  of  martial  quali- 
ties at  small  cost  to  liberty.  In  the  War  of  Independence  there 
was  a  distinct  hope  and  purpose  to  enlarge  individual  liberty. 
It  made  possible  a  confederation  of  the  colonies,  and,  ultimately, 
the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  It  gave 
to  the  thirteen  colonies  a  lesson  in  collectivism,  but  it  was  a 
needed  lesson  on  the  necessity  of  combining  their  forces  to  resist 
an  oppressive  external  authority.  The  war  of  1812  is  properly 
called  the  Second  War  of  Independence,  for  it  was  truly  a  fight 
for  liberty  and  for  the  rights  of  neutrals,  in  resistance  to  the  im- 

IV  [4] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

pressment  of  seamen  and  other  oppressions  growing  out  of 
European  conflicts.  The  civil  war  of  1861-65  was  waged,  on  the 
side  of  the  North,  primarily,  to  prevent  the  dismemberment  of 
the  country,  and,  secondarily  and  incidentally,  to  destroy  the  in- 
stitution of  slavery.  On  the  Northern  side  it  therefore  called 
forth  a  generous  element  of  popular  ardor  in  defence  of  free 
institutions;  and  though  it  temporarily  caused  centrahzation  of 
great  powers  in  the  government,  it  did  as  much  to  promote  in- 
dividual freedom  as  it  did  to  strengthen  public  authority. 

In  all  this  series  of  fightings  the  main  motives  were  self- 
defence,  resistance  to  oppression,  the  enlargement  of  liberty,  and 
the  conservation  of  national  acquisitions.  The  war  with  Mexico, 
it  is  true,  was  of  a  wholly  different  type.  That  was  a  war  of 
conquest,  and  of  conquest  chiefly  in  the  interest  of  African 
slavery.  It  was  also  an  unjust  attack  made  by  a  powerful  people 
on  a  feeble  one ;  but  it  lasted  less  than  two  years,  and  the  number 
of  men  engaged  in  it  was  at  no  time  large.  Moreover,  by  the 
treaty  which  ended  the  war,  the  conquering  nation  agreed  to  pay 
the  conquered  eighteen  million  dollars  in  partial  compensation 
for  some  of  the  territory  wrested  from  it,  instead  of  demanding  a 
huge  war-indemnity,  as  the  European  way  is.  Its  results  con- 
tradicted the  anticipations  both  of  those  who  advocated  and  of 
those  who  opposed  it.  It  was  one  of  the  wrongs  which  prepared 
the  way  for  the  great  rebellion;  but  its  direct  evils  were  of 
moderate  extent,  and  it  had  no  effect  on  the  perennial  conflict 
between  individual  Hberty  and  public  power. 

In  the  mean  time,  partly  as  the  results  of  Indian  fighting  and 
the  Mexican  war,  but  chiefly  through  purchases  and  arbitrations, 
the  American  people  had  acquired  a  territory  so  extensive,  so 
defended  by  oceans,  gulfs,  and  great  lakes,  and  so  intersected  by 
those  great  natural  highways,  navigable  rivers,  that  it  would  ob- 
viously be  impossible  for  any  enemy  to  overrun  or  subdue  it. 
The  civilized  nations  of  Europe,  western  Asia,  and  northern 
Africa  have  always  been  liable  to  hostile  incursions  from  without. 
Over  and  over  again  barbarous  hordes  have  overthrown  estab- 
lished civilizations ;  and  at  this  moment  there  is  not  a  nation  of 
Europe  which  does  not  feel  obliged  to  maintain  monstrous  arma- 
ments for  defence  against  its  neighbors.    The  American  people 

IV  [5] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

have  long  been  exempt  from  such  terrors,  and  are  now  absolutely 
free  from  this  necessity  of  keeping  in  readiness  to  meet  heavy 
assaults.  The  absence  of  a  great  standing  army  and  of  a  large 
fleet  has  been  a  main  characteristic  of  the  United  States,  in  con- 
trast with  the  other  civilized  nations;  this  has  been  a  great  in- 
ducement to  immigration,  and  a  prime  cause  of  the  country's 
rapid  increase  in  wealth.  The  United  States  have  no  formi- 
dable neighbor,  except  Great  Britain  in  Canada.  In  April,  1817, 
by  a  convention  made  between  Great  Britain  and  the  United 
States,  without  much  public  discussion  or  observation,  these  two 
powerful  nations  agreed  that  each  should  keep  on  the  Great 
Lakes  only  a  few  police  vessels  of  insignificant  size  and  arma- 
ment. This  agreement  was  made  but  four  years  after  Perry's 
naval  victory  on  Lake  Erie,  and  only  three  years  after  the  burn- 
ing of  Washington  by  a  British  force.  It  was  one  of  the  first 
acts  of  Monroe's  first  administration,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find  in  all  history  a  more  judicious  or  effectual  agreement  be- 
tween two  powerful  neighbors.  For  eighty  years  this  beneficent 
convention  has  helped  to  keep  the  peace.  The  European  way 
would  have  been  to  build  competitive  fleets,  dockyards,  and 
fortresses,  all  of  which  would  have  helped  to  bring  on  war  during 
the  periods  of  mutual  exasperation  which  have  occurred  since 
181 7.  Monroe's  second  administration  was  signaHzed,  six 
years  later,  by  the  declaration  that  the  United  States  would  con- 
sider any  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  Holy  Alliance  to  extend 
their  system  to  any  portion  of  this  hemisphere  as  dangerous  to 
the  peace  and  safety  of  the  United  States.  This  announce- 
ment was  designed  to  prevent  the  introduction  on  the  American 
continent  of  the  horrible  European  system — with  its  balance  of 
power,  its  alUances  offensive  and  defensive  in  opposing  groups, 
and  its  perpetual  armaments  on  an  enormous  scale.  That  a 
declaration  expressly  intended  to  promote  peace  and  prevent 
armaments  should  now  be  perverted  into  an  argument  for  arming 
and  for  a  belHgerent  public  policy  is  an  extraordinary  perversion 
of  the  true  American  doctrine. 

The  ordinary  causes  of  war  between  nation  and  nation  have 
been  lacking  in  America  for  the  last  century  and  a  quarter. 
How  many  wars  in  the  world's  history  have  been  due  to  contend- 
IV  [6] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

ing  dynasties ;  how  many  of  the  most  cruel  and  protracted  wars 
have  been  due  to  religious  strife ;  how  many  to  race  hatred !  No 
one  of  these  causes  of  war  has  been  efficacious  in  America  since 
the  French  were  overcome  in  Canada  by  the  EngHsh  in  1759. 
Looking  forward  into  the  future,  we  find  it  impossible  to  imagine 
circumstances  under  which  any  of  these  common  causes  of  war 
can  take  effect  on  the  North  American  continent.  Therefore, 
the  ordinary  motives  for  maintaining  armaments  in  time  of 
peace,  and  concentrating  the  powers  of  government  in  such  away 
as  to  interfere  with  individual  liberty,  have  not  been  in  play  in 
the  United  States,  as  among  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  are  not 
likely  to  be. 

Such  have  been  the  favorable  conditions  under  which 
America  has  made  its  best  contribution  to  the  progress  of  our 
race. 

There  are  some  people  of  a  perverted  sentimentality  who 
occasionally  lament  the  absence  in  our  country  of  the  ordinary 
inducements  to  war,  on  the  ground  that  war  develops  certain 
noble  qualities  in  some  of  the  combatants,  and  gives  opportunity 
for  the  practice  of  heroic  virtues,  such  as  courage,  loyalty,  and 
self-sacrifice.  It  is  further  said  that  prolonged  peace  makes 
nations  effeminate,  luxurious,  and  materialistic,  and  substitutes 
for  the  high  ideals  of  the  patriot  soldier  the  low  ideals  of  the 
farmer,  manufacturer,  tradesman,  and  pleasure-seeker.  This 
view  seems  to  me  to  err  in  two  opposite  ways.  In  the  first  place, 
it  forgets  that  war,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  develops  some 
splendid  virtues,  is  the  most  horrible  occupation  that  human 
beings  can  possibly  engage  in.  It  is  cruel,  treacherous,  and 
murderous.  Defensive  warfare,  particularly  on  the  part  of  a 
weak  nation  against  powerful  invaders  or  oppressors,  excites  a 
generous  sympathy ;  but  for  every  heroic  defence  there  must  be 
an  attack  by  a  preponderating  force,  and  war,  being  the  conflict 
of  the  two,  must  be  judged  by  its  moral  effects,  not  on  one 
party,  but  on  both  parties.  Moreover,  the  weaker  party  may 
have  the  worse  cause.  The  immediate  ill  effects  of  war  are 
bad  enough,  but  its  after  effects  are  generally  worse,  because 
indefinitely  prolonged  and  indefinitely  wasting  and  damaging. 
At  this  moment,  thirty -one  years  after  the  end  of  our  civil  war, 
IV  [7] 


THE   SUCCESSES 


there  are  two  great  evils  afflicting  our  country  which  took  their 
rise  in  that  war,  namely,  (i)  the  belief  of  a  large  proportion  of 
our  people  in  money  without  intrinsic  value,  or  worth  less  than 
its  face,  and  made  current  solely  by  act  of  Congress,  and  (2)  the 
payment  of  immense  annual  sums  in  pensions.  It  is  the  paper- 
money  delusion  born  of  the  civil  vvar  which  generated  and  sup- 
ports the  silver-money  delusion  of  to-day.  As  a  consequence  of 
the  war,  the  nation  has  paid  $2,000,000,000  in  pensions  within 
thirty-three  years.  So  far  as  pensions  are  paid  to  disabled 
persons,  they  are  a  just  and  inevitable,  but  unproductive,  ex- 
penditure ;  so  far  as  they  are  paid  to  persons  who  are  not  dis- 
abled— men  or  women — they  are  in  the  main  not  only  unproduc- 
tive, but  demoralizing;  so  far  as  they  promote  the  marriage  of 
young  women  to  old  men,  as  a  pecuniary  speculation,  they  create 
a  grave  social  evil.  It  is  impossible  to  compute  or  even  imagine 
the  losses  and  injuries  already  inflicted  by  the  fiat-money  delu- 
sion ;  and  we  know  that  some  of  the  worst  evils  of  the  pension 
system  will  go  on  for  a  hundred  years  to  come  unless  the  laws 
about  widows'  pensions  are  changed  for  the  better.  It  is  a 
significant  fact  that  in  1895,  of  the  existing  pensioners  of  the  war 
of  18 1 2  only  twenty-one  were  surviving  soldiers  or  sailors,  while 
3,826  were  widows. 

War  gratifies,  or  used  to  gratify,  the  combative  instinct  of 
mankind,  but  it  gratifies  also  the  love  of  plunder,  destruction, 
cruel  discipline,  and  arbitrary  power.  It  is  doubtful  whether 
fighting  with  modern  appliances  will  continue  to  gratify  the 
savage  instinct  of  combat;  for  it  is  not  likely  that  in  the  future 
two  opposing  lines  of  men  can  ever  meet,  or  any  line  or  column 
reach  an  enemy's  intrenchments.  The  machine-gun  can  only 
be  compared  to  the  scythe,  which  cuts  off  every  blade  of  grass 
within  its  sweep.  It  has  made  cavalry  charges  impossible,  just 
as  the  modern  ironclad  has  made  impossible  the  manoeuvres  of 
one  of  Nelson's  fleets.  On  land,  the  only  mode  of  approach  of 
one  line  to  another  must  hereafter  be  by  concealment,  crawling, 
or  surprise.  Naval  actions  will  henceforth  be  conflicts  between 
opposing  machines,  guided,  to  be  sure,  by  men ;  but  it  will  be  the 
best  machine  that  wins,  and  not  necessarily  the  most  enduring 
men.  War  will  become  a  contest  between  treasuries  or  war- 
IV  [8] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

chests;  for  now  that  10,000  men  can  fire  away  a  miUion  dollars' 
worth  of  ammunition  in  an  hour,  no  poor  nation  can  long  resist  a 
rich  one,  unless  there  be  some  extraordinary  difference  between 
the  two  in  mental  and  moral  strength. 

The  view  that  war  is  desirable  omits  also  the  consideration 
that  modern  social  and  industrial  life  affords  ample  opportuni- 
ties for  the  courageous  and  loyal  discharge  of  duty,  apart  from 
the  barbarities  of  warfare.  There  are  many  serviceable  occupa- 
tions in  civil  life  which  call  for  all  the  courage  and  fidelity  of  the 
best  soldier,  and  for  more  than  his  independent  responsibihty, 
because  not  pursued  in  masses  or  under  the  immediate  command 
of  superiors.  Such  occupations  are  those  of  the  locomotive 
engineer,  the  electric  lineman,  the  railroad  brakeman,  the  city 
fireman,  and  the  policeman.  The  occupation  of  the  locomotive 
engineer  requires  constantly  a  high  degree  of  skill,  alertness, 
fidelity,  and  resolution,  and  at  any  moment  may  call  for  heroic 
self-forgetfulness.  The  occupation  of  a  Hneman  requires  all  the 
courage  and  endurance  of  a  soldier,  whose  lurking  foe  is  mys- 
terious and  invisible.  In  the  two  years  1893  and  1894  there 
were  34,000  trainmen  killed  and  wounded  on  the  railroads  of  the 
United  States,  and  25,000  other  railroad  employes  besides.  I 
need  not  enlarge  on  the  dangers  of  the  fireman's  occupation,  or 
on  the  disciplined  gallantry  with  which  its  risks  are  habitually 
incurred.  The  policeman  in  large  cities  needs  every  virtue  of 
the  best  soldier,  for  in  the  discharge  of  many  of  his  most  im- 
portant duties  he  is  alone.  Even  the  feminine  occupation  of  the 
trained  nurse  illustrates  every  heroic  quality  which  can  possibly 
be  exhibited  in  war;  for  she,  simply  in  the  way  of  duty,  without 
the  stimulus  of  excitement  or  companionship,  runs  risks  from 
which  many  a  soldier  in  hot  blood  would  shrink.  No  one  need 
be  anxious  about  the  lack  of  opportunities  in  civiHzed  fife  for  the 
display  of  heroic  qualities.  New  industries  demand  new  forms 
of  fidelity  and  self-sacrificing  devotion.  Every  generation  de- 
velops some  new  kind  of  hero.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  the 
*'  scab  "  is  a  creditable  type  of  nineteenth-century  hero  ?  In  de- 
fence of  his  rights  as  an  individual,  he  deliberately  incurs  the 
reprobation  of  many  of  his  fellows,  and  runs  the  immediate  risk 
of  bodily  injury  or  even  of  death.  He  also  risks  his  liveli- 
IV  [9] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

hood  for  the  future,  and  thereby  the  well-being  of  his  family. 
He  steadily  asserts  in  action  his  right  to  work  on  such  conditions 
as  he  sees  fit  to  make,  and,  in  so  doing,  he  exhibits  remarkable 
courage  and  renders  a  great  service  to  his  fellow-men.  He  is 
generally  a  quiet,  unpretending,  silent  person,  who  values  his 
personal  freedom  more  than  the  society  and  approbation  of  his 
mates.  Often  he  is  impelled  to  Vv^ork  by  family  affection,  but 
this  fact  does  not  diminish  his  heroism.  There  are  file-closers 
behind  the  line  of  battle  of  the  bravest  regiment.  Another 
modern  personage  who  needs  heroic  endurance,  and  often  ex- 
hibits it,  is  the  public  servant  who  steadily  does  his  duty  against 
the  outcry  of  a  party  press  bent  on  perverting  his  every  word  and 
act.  Through  the  telegram,  cheap  postage,  and  the  daily  news- 
paper, the  forces  of  hasty  public  opinion  can  now  be  concen- 
trated and  expressed  with  a  rapidity  and  intensity  unknown 
to  preceding  generations.  In  consequence,  the  independent 
thinker  or  actor,  or  the  public  servant,  when  his  thoughts  or  acts 
run  counter  to  prevailing  popular  or  party  opinions,  encounters 
sudden  and  intense  obloquy,  which,  to  many  temperaments,  is 
very  formidable.  That  habit  of  submitting  to  the  opinion  of  the 
majority  which  democracy  fosters  renders  the  storm  of  detrac- 
tion and  calumny  all  the  more  difficult  to  endure — makes  it,  in- 
deed, so  intolerable  to  many  citizens  that  they  will  conceal  or 
modify  their  opinions  rather  than  endure  it.  Yet  the  very 
breath  of  life  for  a  democracy  is  free  discussion,  and  the  taking 
account,  of  all  opinions  honestly  held  and  reasonably  expressed. 
The  unreality  of  the  vilification  of  public  men  in  the  modern 
press  is  often  revealed  by  the  sudden  change  when  an  eminent 
public  servant  retires  or  dies.  A  man  for  whom  no  words  of 
derision  or  condemnation  were  strong  enough  yesterday  is 
recognized  to-morrow  as  an  honorable  and  serviceable  person, 
and  a  credit  to  his  country.  Nevertheless,  this  habit  of  partisan 
ridicule  and  denunciation  in  the  daily  reading-matter  of  millions 
of  people  calls  for  a  new  kind  of  courage  and  toughness  in  public 
men,  and  calls  for  it,  not  in  brief  moments  of  excitement  only, 
but  steadily,  year  in  and  year  out.  Clearly,  there  is  no  need  of 
bringing  on  wars  in  order  to  breed  heroes.  Civilized  life  affords 
plenty  of  opportunities  for  heroes,  and  for  a  better  kind  than  war 
IV  [  lO  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

or  any  other  savagery  has  ever  produced.  Moreover,  none  but 
lunatics  would  set  a  city  on  fire  in  order  to  give  opportunities  for 
keroism  to  firemen,  or  introduce  the  cholera  or  yellow  fever  to 
give  physicians  and  nurses  opportunity  for  practising  disin- 
terested devotion,  or  condemn  thousands  of  people  to  extreme 
poverty  in  order  that  some  well-to-do  persons  might  practise  a 
beautiful  charity.  It  is  equally  crazy  to  advocate  war  on  the 
ground  that  it  is  a  school  for  heroes. 

Another  misleading  argument  for  war  needs  brief  notice.  It 
is  said  that  war  is  a  school  of  national  development — that  a 
nation,  when  conducting  a  great  war,  puts  forth  prodigious  exer- 
tions to  raise  money,  supply  munitions,  enlist  troops,  and  keep 
them  in  the  field,  and  often  gets  a  clearer  conception  and  a  better 
control  of  its  own  materials  and  moral  forces  while  making  these 
unusual  exertions.  The  nation  which  means  to  live  in  peace 
necessarily  foregoes,  it  is  said,  these  valuable  opportunities  of 
abnormal  activity.  Naturally,  such  a  nation's  abnormal  ac- 
tivities devoted  to  destruction  would  be  diminished;  but  its 
normal  and  abnormal  activities  devoted  to  construction  and  im- 
provement ought  to  increase. 

One  great  reason  for  the  rapid  development  of  the  United 
States  since  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  is  the  comparative 
exemption  of  the  whole  people  from  war,  dread  of  war,  and 
preparations  for  war.  The  energies  of  the  people  have  been 
directed  into  other  channels.  The  progress  of  applied  science 
during  the  present  century,  and  the  new  ideals  concerning  the 
well-being  of  human  multitudes,  have  opened  great  fields  for  the 
useful  application  of  national  energy.  This  immense  territory 
of  ours,  stretching  from  ocean  to  ocean,  and  for  the  most  part  but 
imperfectly  developed  and  sparsely  settled,  affords  a  broad  field 
for  the  beneficent  application  of  the  richest  national  forces 
during  an  indefinite  period.  There  is  no  department  of  national 
activity  in  which  we  could  not  advantageously  put  forth  much 
more  force  than  we  now  expend ;  and  there  are  great  fields  which 
we  have  never  cultivated  at  all.  As  examples,  I  may  mention 
the  post-office,  national  sanitation,  public  works,  and  education. 
Although  great  improvements  have  been  made  during  the  past 
fifty  years  in  the  collection  and  delivery  of  mail  matter,  much 
IV  [ii] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

still  remains  to  be  done  both  in  city  and  country,  and  particu- 
larly in  the  country.  In  the  mail  facilities  secured  to  our  people 
we  are  far  behind  several  European  governments,  whereas  we 
ought  to  be  far  in  advance  of  every  European  government  except 
Switzerland,  since  the  rapid  interchange  of  ideas,  and  the  pro- 
motion of  family,  friendly,  and  commercial  intercourse  are  of 
more  importance  to  a  democracy*^ than  to  any  other  form  o'f 
political  society.  Our  national  government  takes  very  little 
pains  about  the  sanitation  of  the  country,  or  its  deliverance  from 
injurious  insects  and  parasites ;  yet  these  are  matters  of  gravest 
interest,  with  which  only  the  general  government  can  deal, 
because  action  by  separate  States  or  cities  is  necessarily  ineffect- 
ual. To  fight  pestilences  needs  quite  as  much  energy,  skill,  and 
courage  as  to  carry  on  war;  indeed,  the  foes  are  more  insidious 
and  awful,  and  the  means  of  resistance  less  obvious.  On  the  av- 
erage and  the  large  scale,  the  professions  which  heal  and  prevent 
disease,  and  mitigate  suffering,  call  for  much  more  ability,  con- 
stancy, and  devotion  than  the  professions  which  inflict  wounds 
and  death  and  all  sorts  of  human  misery.  Our  government  has 
never  touched  the  important  subject  of  national  roads,  by  which 
I  mean  not  railroads,  but  common  highways ;  yet  here  is  a  great 
subject  for  beneficent  action  through  government,  in  which  we 
need  only  go  for  our  lessons  to  little  republican  Switzerland. 
Inundations  and  droughts  are  great  enemies  of  the  human  race, 
against  which  government  ought  to  create  defences,  because 
private  enterprise  cannot  cope  with  such  wide-spreading  evils. 
Popular  education  is  another  great  field  in  which  public  activity 
should  be  indefinitely  enlarged,  not  so  much  through  the  action 
of  the  Federal  government — though  even  there  a  much  more 
effective  supervision  should  be  provided  than  now  exists — ^but 
through  the  action  of  States,  cities,  and  towns.  We  have  hardly 
begun  to  apprehend  the  fundamental  necessity  and  infinite 
value  of  public  education,  or  to  appreciate  the  immense  ad- 
vantages to  be  derived  from  additional  expenditure  for  it.  What 
prodigious  possibilities  of  improvement  are  suggested  by  the 
single  statement  that  the  average  annual  expenditure  for  the 
schooling  of  a  child  in  the  United  States  is  only  about  eighteen 
dollars!  Here  is  a  cause  which  requires  from  hundreds  of 
IV  [12] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

thousands  of  men  and  women  keen  intelligence,  hearty  devotion 
to  duty,  and  a  steady  uplifting  and  advancement  of  all  its  stand- 
ards and  ideals.  The  system  of  public  instruction  should  em- 
body for  coming  generations  all  the  virtues  of  the  mediaeval 
church.  It  should  stand  for  the  brotherhood  and  unity  of  all 
classes  and  conditions;  it  should  exalt  the  joys  of  the  intellectual 
life  above  all  material  delights;  and  it  should  produce  the  best 
constituted  and  most  wisely  directed  intellectual  and  moral  host 
that  the  world  has  seen.  In  view  of  such  unutilized  opportuni- 
ties as  these  for  the  beneficent  application  of  great  public  forces, 
does  it  not  seem  monstrous  that  war  should  be  advocated  on  the 
ground  that  it  gives  occasion  for  rallying  and  using  the  national 
energies  ? 

The  second  eminent  contribution  which  the  United  States 
have  made  to  civilization  is  their  thorough  acceptance,  in  theory 
and  practice,  of  the  widest  religious  toleration.  As  a  means  of 
suppressing  individual  liberty,  the  collective  authority  of  the 
Church,  when  elaborately  organized  in  a  hierarchy  directed  by 
one  head  and  absolutely  devoted  in  every  rank  of  its  service, 
comes  next  in  proved  efficiency  to  that  concentration  of  powers  in 
government  which  enables  it  to  carry  on  war  effectively.  The 
Western  Christian  Church,  organized  under  the  Bishop  of  Rome, 
acquired,  during  the  middle  ages,  a  centralized  authority  which 
quite  overrode  both  the  temporal  ruler  and  the  rising  spirit  of 
nationality.  For  a  time  Christian  Church  and  Christian  State 
acted  together,  just  as  in  Egypt,  during  many  earlier  centuries, 
the  great  powers  of  civil  and  religious  rule  had  been. United. 
The  Crusades  marked  the  climax  of  the  power  of.  the  Church. 
Thereafter,  Church  and  State  were  often  in  conflict;  and  during 
this  prolonged  conflict  the  seeds  of  liberty  were  planted,  took 
root,  and  made  some  sturdy  growth.  We  can  see  now,  as  we 
look  back  on  the  history  of  Europe,  how  fortunate  it  was  that  the 
colonization  of  North  America  by  Europeans  was  deferred  until 
after  the  period  of  the  Reformation,  and  especially  until  after  the 
Elizabethan  periocl  in  England,  the  Luther  period  in  Germany, 
and  the  splendid  struggle  of  the  Dutch  for  liberty  in  Holland. 
The  founders  of  New  England  and  New  York  were  men  who 
had  imbibed  the  principles  of  resistance  both  to  arbitrary  civil 

IV  [  13  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

power  and  to  universal  ecclesiastical  authority.  Hence  it  came 
about  that  within  the  territory  now  covered  by  the  United  States 
no  single  ecclesiastical  organization  ever  obtained  a  wide  and 
oppressive  control,  and  that  in  different  parts  of  this  great  region 
churches  very  unlike  in  doctrine  and  organization  were  almost 
simultaneously  established.  It  has  been  an  inevitable  conse- 
quence of  this  condition  of  things  that  the  Church,  as  a  whole,  in 
the  United  States  has  not  been  an  effective  opponent  of  any  form 
of  human  rights.  For  generations  it  has  been  divided  into 
numerous  sects  and  denominations,  no  one  of  which  has  been 
able  to  claim  more  than  a  tenth  of  the  population  as  its  ad- 
herents; and  the  practices  of  these  numerous  denominations 
have  been  profoundly  modified  by  political  theories  and  prac- 
tices, and  by  social  customs  natural  to  new  communities  formed 
under  the  prevailing  conditions  of  free  intercourse  and  rapid 
growth.  The  constitutional  prohibition  of  religious  tests  as  qual- 
ifications for  office  gave  the  United  States  the  leadership  among 
the  nations  in  dissociating  theological  opinions  and  poHtical 
rights.  No  one  denomination  or  ecclesiastical  organization  in 
the  United  States  has  held  great  properties,  or  has  had  the  means 
of  conducting  its  ritual  with  costly  pomp  or  its  charitable  works 
with  imposing  liberality.  No  splendid  architectural  exhibitions 
of  Church  power  have  interested  or  overawed  the  population. 
On  the  contrary,  there  has  prevailed  in  general  a  great  sim- 
plicity in  public  worship,  until  very  recent  years.  Some  splen- 
dors have  been  lately  developed  by  religious  bodies  in  the  great 
cities;  but  these  splendors  and  luxuries  have  been  almost  simul- 
taneously exhibited  by  religious  bodies  of  very  different,  not  to 
say  opposite,  kinds.  Thus,  in  New  York  city,  the  Jews,  the 
Greek  Church,  the  Catholics,  and  the  Episcopalians  have  all 
erected,  or  undertaken  to  erect,  magnificent  edifices.  But  these 
recent  demonstrations  of  wealth  and  zeal  are  so  distributed 
among  differing  religious  organizations  that  they  cannot  be 
imagined  to  indicate  a  coming  centralization  of  ecclesiastical  in- 
fluence adverse  to  individual  liberty. 

In  the  United  States,  the  great  principle  of  religious  tolera- 
tion is  better  understood  and  more  firmly  established  than  in  any 
other  nation  of  the  earth.     It  is  not  only  embodied  in  legislation, 
IV  [  14  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

but  also  completely  recognized  in  the  habits  and  customs  of  good 
society-  Elsewhere  it  may  be  a  long  road  from  legal  to  social 
recognition  of  religious  liberty,  as  the  example  of  England  shows. 
This  recognition  alone  w^ould  mean,  to  any  competent  student  of 
history,  that  the  United  States  had  made  an  unexampled  con- 
tribution to  the  reconciliation  of  just  governmental  power  with  just 
freedom  for  the  individual,  inasmuch  as  the  partial  establishment 
of  religious  toleration  has  been  the  main  work  of  civiliza- 
tion during  the  past  four  centuries.  In  view  of  this  charac- 
teristic and  infinitely  beneficent  contribution  to  human  happi- 
ness and  progress,  how  pitiable  seem  the  temporary  outbursts  of 
bigotry  and  fanaticism  which  have  occasionally  marred  the  fair 
record  of  our  country  in  regard  to  religious  toleration  1  If  any 
one  imagines  that  this  American  contribution  to  civilization  is  no 
longer  important — that  the  victory  for  toleration  has  been 
already  won — let  him  recall  the  fact  that  the  last  years  of  the 
nineteenth  century  witnessed  two  horrible  religious  persecutions, 
one  by  a  Christian  nation,  the  other  by  a  Moslem — one,  of  the 
Jews  by  Russia,  and  the  other,  of  the  Armenians  by  Turkey. 

The  third  characteristic  contribution  which  the  United 
States  have  made  to  civihzation  has  been  the  safe  development  of 
a  manhood  suffrage  nearly  universal.  The  experience  of  the 
United  States  has  brought  out  several  principles  with  regard  to 
the  suffrage  which  have  not  been  clearly  apprehended  by  some 
eminent  political  philosophers.  In  the  first  place,  American  ex- 
perience has  demonstrated  the  advantages  of  a  gradual  approach 
to  universal  suffrage,  over  a  sudden  leap.  Universal  suffrage  is 
not  the  first  and  only  means  of  attaining  democratic  government; 
rather,  it  is  the  ultimate  goal  of  successful  democracy.  It  is  not 
a  specific  for  the  cure  of  all  political  ills ;  on  the  contrary,  it  may 
itself  easily  be  the  source  of  great  political  evils.  The  people  of 
the  United  States  feel  its  dangers  to-day.  When  constituencies 
are  large,  it  aggravates  the  well-known  difficulties  of  party 
government ;  so  that  many  of  the  ills  which  threaten  democratic 
communities  at  this  moment,  whether  in  Europe  or  America, 
proceed  from  the  breakdown  of  party  government  rather  than 
from  failures  of  universal  suffrage.  The  methods  of  party 
government  were  elaborated  where  suffrage  was  limited  and 
IV  [  15  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

constituencies  were  small.  Manhood  suffrage  has  not  worked 
perfectly  well  in  the  United  States,  or  in  any  other  nation  where 
it  has  been  adopted,  and  it  is  not  likely  very  soon  to  work  per- 
fectly anywhere.  It  is  like  freedom  of  the  will  for  the  individual 
— the  only  atmosphere  in  which  virtue  can  grow,  but  an  atmos- 
phere in  which  sin  can  also  grow.  Like  freedom  of  the  will,  it 
needs  to  be  surrounded  with  checks  and  safeguards,  particularly 
in  the  childhood  of  the  nation ;  but,  like  freedom  of  the  will,  it  is 
the  supreme  good,  the  goal  of  perfected  democracy.  Secondly, 
like  freedom  of  the  will,  universal  suffrage  has  an  educational 
effect,  which  has  been  mentioned  by  many  writers,  but  has  sel- 
dom been  clearly  apprehended  or  adequately  described.  This 
educational  effect  is  produced  in  two  ways :  In  the  first  place,  the 
combination  of  individual  freedom  with  social  mobility,  which  a 
wide  suffrage  tends  to  produce,  permits  the  capable  to  rise 
through  all  grades  of  society,  even  within  a  single  generation; 
and  this  freedom  to  rise  is  intensely  stimulating  to  personal  am- 
bition. Thus  every  capable  American,  from  youth  to  age,  is 
bent  on  bettering  himself  and  his  condition.  Nothing  can  be 
more  striking  than  the  contrast  between  the  mental  condition  of 
an  average  American  belonging  to  the  laborious  classes,  but  con- 
scious that  he  can  rise  to  the  top  of  the  social  scale,  and  that  of  a 
European  mechanic,  peasant,  or  tradesman,  who  knows  that  he 
cannot  rise  out  of  his  class,  and  is  content  with  his  hereditary 
classification.  The  state  of  mind  of  the  American  prompts  to 
constant  struggle  for  self-improvement  and  the  acquisition  of  all 
sorts  of  property  and  power.  In  the  second  place,  it  is  a  direct 
effect  of  a  broad  suffrage  that  the  voters  become  periodically 
interested  in  the  discussion  of  grave  public  problems,  which  carry 
their  minds  away  from  the  routine  of  their  daily  labor  and  house- 
hold experience  out  into  larger  fields.  The  instrumentalities  of 
this  prolonged  education  have  been  multiplied  and  improved 
enormously  within  the  past  fifty  years.  In  no  field  of  human 
endeavor  have  the  fruits  of  the  introduction  of  steam  and  elec- 
trical power  been  more  striking  than  in  the  methods  of  reaching 
multitudes  of  people  with  instructive  narratives,  expositions,  and 
arguments.  The  multiplication  of  newspapers,  magazines,  and 
books  is  only  one  of  the  immense  developments  in  the  means  of 
IV  [  i6  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

reaching  the  people.  The  advocates  of  any  public  cause  now 
have  it  in  their  power  to  provide  hundreds  of  newspapers  with 
the  same  copy,  or  the  same  plates,  for  simultaneous  issue.  The 
mails  provide  the  means  of  circulating  millions  of  leaflets  and 
pamphlets.  The  interest  in  the  minds  of  the  people  which 
prompts  to  the  reading  of  these  multiplied  communications 
comes  from  the  frequently  recurring  elections.  The  more  diffi- 
cult the  intellectual  problem  presented  in  any  given  election,  the 
more  educative  the  effect  of  the  discussion.  Many  modern  in- 
dustrial and  financial  problems  are  extremely  difficult,  even  for 
highly  educated  men.  As  subjects  of  earnest  thought  and  dis- 
cussion on  the  farm,  and  in  the  work-shop,  factory,  rolling-mill, 
and  mine,  they  supply  a  mental  training  for  millions  of  adults, 
the  like  of  which  has  never  before  been  seen  in  the  world. 

In  these  discussions,  it  is  not  only  the  receptive  masses  that 
are  benefited ;  the  classes  that  supply  the  appeals  to  the  masses 
are  also  benefited  in  a  high  degree.  There  is  no  better  mental 
exercise  for  the  most  highly  trained  man  than  the  effort  to  ex- 
pound a  difficult  subject  in  so  clear  a  way  that  the  untrained  man 
can  understand  it.  In  a  republic  in  which  the  final  appeal  is  to 
manhood  suffrage,  the  educated  minority  of  the  people  is  con- 
stantly stimulated  to  exertion,  by  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
as  well  as  by  love  of  country.  They  see  dangers  in  proposals 
made  to  universal  suffrage,  and  they  must  exert  themselves  to 
ward  off  those  dangers.  The  position  of  the  educated  and  well- 
to-do  classes  is  a  thoroughly  wholesome  one  in  this  respect:  they 
cannot  depend  for  the  preservation  of  their  advantages  on  land- 
owning, hereditary  privilege,  or  any  legislation  not  equally  ap- 
plicable to  the  poorest  and  humblest  citizen.  They  must  main- 
tain their  superiority  by  being  superior.  They  cannot  live  in  a 
too  safe  corner. 

I  touch  here  on  a  misconception  which  underlies  much  of  the 
criticism  of  universal  suffrage.  It  is  commonly  said  that  the 
rule  of  the  majority  must  be  the  rule  of  the  most  ignorant  and 
incapable,  the  multitude  being  necessarily  uninstructed  as  to 
taxation,  public  finance,  and  foreign  relations,  and  untrained  to 
active  thought  on  such  difficult  subjects.  Now,  universal  suf- 
frage is  merely  a  convention  as  to  where  the  last  appeal  shall  lie 
IV  [  17  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

for  the  decision  of  public  questions;  and  it  is  the  rule  of  the 
majority  only  in  this  sense.  The  educated  classes  are  undoubt- 
edly a  minority ;  but  it  is  not  safe  to  assume  that  they  monopo- 
lize the  good  sense  of  the  community.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
very  clear  that  native  good  judgment  and  good  feeling  are  not 
proportional  to  education,  and  that  among  a  multitude  of  men 
who  have  only  an  elementary  education  a  large  proportion  will 
possess  both  good  judgment  and  good  feeling.  Indeed,  persons 
who  can  neither  read  nor  write  may  possess  a  large  share  of  both, 
as  is  constantly  seen  in  regions  where  the  opportunities  for  edu- 
cation in  childhood  have  been  scanty  or  inaccessible.  It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  the  cultivated  classes,  under  a  regime  of 
universal  suffrage,  are  not  going  to  try  to  make  their  cultivation 
felt  in  the  discussion  and  disposal  of  public  questions.  Any 
result  under  universal  suffrage  is  a  complex  effect  of  the  discus- 
sion of  the  public  question  in  hand  by  the  educated  classes  in  the 
presence  of  the  comparatively  uneducated,  when  a  majority  of 
both  classes  taken  together  is  ultimately  to  settle  the  question. 
In  practice,  both  classes  divide  on  almost  every  issue.  But,  in 
any  case,  if  the  educated  classes  cannot  hold  their  own  with  the 
uneducated,  by  means  of  their  superior  physical,  mental,  and 
moral  quahties,  they  are  obviously  unfit  to  lead  society.  With 
education  should  come  better  powers  of  argument  and  per- 
suasion, a  stricter  sense  of  honor,  and  a  greater  general  effective- 
ness. With  these  advantages,  the  educated  classes  must  un- 
doubtedly appeal  to  the  less  educated,  and  try  to  convert  them 
to  their  way  of  thinking;  but  this  is  a  process  which  is  good  for 
both  sets  of  people.  Indeed,  it  is  the  best  possible  process  for 
the  training  of  freemen,  educated  or  uneducated,  rich  or  poor. 

It  is  often  assumed  that  the  educated  classes  become  im- 
potent in  a  democracy,  because  the  representatives  of  those 
classes  are  not  exclusively  chosen  to  public  office.  This  argu- 
ment is  a  very  fallacious  one.  It  assumes  that  the  public  offices 
are  the  places  of  greatest  influence;  whereas,  in  the  United 
States,  at  least,  that  is  conspicuously  not  the  case.  In  a  democ- 
racy, it  is  important  to  discriminate  influence  from  authority. 
Rulers  and  magistrates  may  or  may  not  be  persons  of  influence; 
but  many  persons  of  influence  never  become  rulers,  magistrates, 
IV  [  i8  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

or  representatives  in  parliaments  or  legislatures.  The  complex 
industries  of  a  modern  state,  and  its  innumerable  corporation 
services,  offer  great  fields  for  administrative  talent  which  were 
entirely  unknown  to  preceding  generations;  and  these  new  ac- 
tivities attract  many  ambitious  and  capable  men  more  strongly 
than  the  public  service.  These  men  are  not  on  that  account  lost 
to  their  country  or  to  society.  The  present  generation  has 
wholly  escaped  from  the  conditions  of  earlier  centuries,  when 
able  men  who  were  not  great  land-owners  had  but  three  outlets 
for  their  ambition — the  army,  the  church,  or  the  national  civil 
service.  The  national  service,  whether  in  an  empire,  a  limited 
monarchy,  or  a  republic,  is  now  only  one  of  many  fields  which 
offer  to  able  and  patriotic  men  an  honorable  and  successful 
career.  Indeed,  legislation  and  public  administration  neces- 
sarily have  a  very  second-hand  quality;  and  more  and  more  legis- 
lators and  administrators  become  dependent  on  the  researches  of 
scholars,  men  of  science,  and  historians,  and  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  inventors,  economists,  and  political  philosophers.  Political 
leaders  are  very  seldom  leaders  of  thought;  they  are  generally 
trying  to  induce  masses  of  men  to  act  on  principles  thought  out 
long  before.  Their  skill  is  in  the  selection  of  practicable  ap- 
proximations to  the  ideal;  their  arts  are  arts  of  exposition  and 
persuasion ;  their  honor  comes  from  fidelity  under  trying  circum- 
stances to  famih'ar  principles  of  public  duty.  The  real  leaders  of 
American  thought  in  this  century  have  been  preachers,  teachers, 
jurists,  seers,  and  poets.  While  it  is  of  the  highest  importance, 
under  any  form  of  government,  that  the  public  servants  should 
be  men  of  intelligence,  education,  and  honor,  it  is  no  objection 
to  any  given  form,  that  under  it  large  numbers  of  educated 
and  honorable  citizens  have  no  connection  with  the  public 
service. 

Well-to-do  Europeans,  when  reasoning  about  the  working  of 
democracy,  often  assume  that  under  any  government  the  prop- 
erty-holders are  synonymous  with  the  intelligent  and  educated 
class.  That  is  not  the  case  in  the  American  democracy.  Any 
one  who  has  been  connected  with  a  large  American  university 
can  testify  that  democratic  institutions  produce  plenty  of  rich 
people  who  are  not  educated  and  plenty  of  educated  people  who 

IV  [  19  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

are  not  rich,  just  as  mediaeval  society  produced  illiterate  nobles 
and  cultivated  monks. 

Persons  who  object  to  manhood  suffrage  as  the  last  resort  for 
the  settlement  of  public  questions  are  bound  to  show  where,  in 
all  the  world,  a  juster  or  more  practicable  regulation  or  conven- 
tion has  been  arrived  at.  The  objectors  ought  at  least  to  indi- 
cate where  the  ultimate  decision  should,  in  their  judgment,  rest — 
as,  for  example,  wath  the  land -owners,  or  the  property- holders,  or 
the  graduates  of  secondar}^  schools,  or  the  professional  classes. 
He  would  be  a  bold  pohtical  philosopher  who,  in  these  days, 
should  propose  that  the  ultimate  tribunal  should  be  constituted 
in  any  of  these  ways.  All  the  experience  of  the  civilized  world 
fails  to  indicate  a  safe  personage,  a  safe  class,  or  a  safe  minority, 
with  which  to  deposit  this  power  of  ultimate  decision.  On  the 
contrary,  the  experience  of  civilization  indicates  that  no  select 
person  or  class  can  be  trusted  with  that  power,  no  matter  what 
the  principle  of  selection.  The  convention  that  the  majority  of 
males  shall  decide  public  questions  has  obviously  great  recom- 
mendations. It  is  apparently  fairer  than  the  rule  of  any  minor- 
ity, and  it  is  sure  to  be  supported  by  an  adequate  physical  force. 
Moreover,  its  decisions  are  likely  to  enforce  themselves.  Even 
in  matters  of  doubtful  prognostication,  the  fact  that  a  majority 
of  the  males  do  the  prophesying  tends  to  the  fulfilment  of  the 
prophecy.  At  any  rate,  the  adoption  or  partial  adoption  of 
universal  male  suffrage  by  several  civilized  nations  is  coincident 
with  unexampled  ameliorations  in  the  condition  of  the  least  for- 
tunate and  most  numerous  classes  of  the  population.  To  this 
general  amelioration  many  causes  have  doubtless  contributed; 
but  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  acquisition  of  the  power 
which  comes  with  votes  has  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

Timid  or  conservative  people  often  stand  aghast  at  the  pos- 
sible directions  of  democratic  desire,  or  at  some  of  the  predicted 
results  of  democratic  rule ;  but  meantime  the  actual  experience 
of  the  American  democracy  proves:  i,  that  property  has  never 
been  safer  under  any  form  of  government ;  2,  that  no  people  have 
ever  welcomed  so  ardently  new  machinery,  and  new^  inventions 
generally;  3,  that  religious  toleration  was  never  carried  so  far, 
and  never  so  universally  accepted;  4,  that  nowhere  have  the 
IV  [20] 


THE  SUCCESSES 

power  and  disposition  to  read  been  so  general;  5,  that  nowhere 
has  governmental  power  been  more  adequate,  or  more  freely 
exercised,  to  levy  and  collect  taxes,  to  raise  armies  and  to  disband 
them,  to  maintain  public  order,  and  to  pay  off  great  public  debts 
— national,  State,  and  town;  6,  that  nowhere  have  property  and 
well-being  been  so  widely  diffused;  and  7,  that  no  form  of  gov- 
ernment ever  inspired  greater  affection  and  loyalty,  or  prompted 
to  greater  personal  sacrifices  in  supreme  moments.  In  view  of 
these  solid  facts,  speculations  as  to  what  universal  suffrage  would 
have  done  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  or  may  do 
in  the  twentieth,  seem  futile  indeed.  The  most  civilized  nations 
of  the  world  have  all  either  adopted  this  final  appeal  to  manhood 
suffrage,  or  they  are  approaching  that  adoption  by  rapid  stages. 
The  United  States,  having  no  customs  or  traditions  of  an  oppo- 
site sort  to  overcome,  have  led  the  nations  in  this  direction,  and 
have  had  the  honor  of  devising,  as  a  result  of  practical  experience, 
the  best  safeguards  for  universal  suffrage,  safeguards  which,  in 
the  main,  are  intended  to  prevent  hasty  pubHc  action,  or  action 
based  on  sudden  discontents  or  temporary  spasms  of  public 
feehng.  These  checks  are  intended  to  give  time  for  discussion 
and  deliberation,  or,  in  other  words,  to  secure  the  enlightenment 
of  the  voters  before  the  vote.  If,  under  new  conditions,  existing 
safeguards  prove  insufficient,  the  only  wise  course  is  to  devise 
new  safeguards. 

The  United  States  have  made  to  civilization  a  fourth  con- 
tribution of  a  very  hopeful  sort,  to  which  public  attention  needs 
to  be  directed,  lest  temporary  evils  connected  therewith  should 
prevent  the  continuation  of  this  beneficent  action.  The  United 
States  have  furnished  a  demonstration  that  people  belonging  to  a 
great  variety  of  races  or  nations  are,  under  favorable  circum- 
stances, fit  for  political  freedom.  It  is  the  fashion  to  attribute  to 
the  enormous  immigration  of  the  last  fifty  years  some  of  the 
failures  of  the  American  political  system,  and  particularly  the 
American  failure  in  municipal  government,  and  the  introduction 
in  a  few  States  of  the  rule  of  the  irresponsible  party  foremen 
known  as  *' bosses."  Impatient  of  these  evils,  and  hastily  ac- 
cepting this  improbable  explanation  of  them,  some  people  wish 
to  depart  from  the  American  policy  of  welcoming  immigrants. 
IV  [  21  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

In  two  respects  the  absorption  of  large  numbers  of  immigrants 
from  many  nations  into  the  American  common weaUh  has  been 
of  great  service  to  mankind.  In  the  first  place,  it  has  demon- 
strated that  people  who  at  home  have  been  subject  to  every  sort 
of  aristocratic  or  despotic  or  military  oppression  become  within 
less  than  a  generation  serviceable  citizens  of  a  republic;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  the  United  States  have  thus  educated  to  free- 
dom many  millions  of  men.  Furthermore,  the  comparatively 
high  degree  of  happiness  and  prosperity  enjoyed  by  the  people 
of  the  United  States  has  been  brought  home  to  multitudes  in 
Europe  by  friends  and  relatives  who  have  emigrated  to  this 
country,  and  has  commended  free  institutions  to  them  in  the 
best  possible  way.  This  is  a  legitimate  propaganda  vastly  more 
effective  than  any  annexation  or  conquest  of  unwilling  people,  or 
of  people  unprepared  for  liberty. 

It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  process  of  assimilat- 
ing foreigners  began  in  the  last  century.  The  eighteenth  century 
provided  the  colonies  with  a  great  mixture  of  peoples,  although 
the  English  race  predominated  then,  as  now.  When  the  Revo- 
lution broke  out,  there  were  already  English,  Irish,  Scotch, 
Dutch,  Germans,  French,  Portuguese,  and  Swedes  in  the  colo- 
nies. The  French  were,  to  be  sure,  in  small  proportion,  and 
were  almost  exclusively  Huguenot  refugees,  but  they  were  a 
valuable  element  in  the  population.  The  Germans  were  well 
diffused,  having  estabUshed  themselves  in  New  York,  Penn- 
sylvania, Virginia,  and  Georgia.  The  Scotch  were  scattered 
through  all  the  colonies.  Pennsylvania,  especially,  was  in- 
habited by  an  extraordinary  mixture  of  nationalities  and  relig- 
ions. Since  steam-navigation  on  the  Atlantic  and  railroad 
transportation  on  the  North  American  continent  became  cheap 
and  easy,  the  tide  of  immigration  has  greatly  increased ;  but  it  is 
very  doubtful  if  the  amount  of  assimilation  going  on  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  has  been  any  larger,  in  proportion  to  the  popula- 
tion and  wealth  of  the  country,  than  it  was  in  the  eighteenth. 
The  main  difference  in  the  assimilation  going  on  in  the  two  cen- 
turies is  this,  that  in  the  eighteenth  century  the  newcomers  were 
almost  all  Protestants,  while  in  the  nineteenth  century  a  con- 
siderable proportion  have  been  Catholics.  One  result,  however, 
IV  [22] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

of  the  importation  of  large  numbers  of  Catholics  into  the  United 
States  has  been  a  profound  modification  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  in  regard  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  both  the  clergy 
and  the  laity,  the  scope  of  the  authority  of  the  priest,  and  the 
attitude  of  the  Catholic  Church  toward  public  education.  This 
American  modification  of  the  Roman  Church  has  reacted 
strongly  on  the  Church  in  Europe. 

Another  great  contribution  to  civilization  made  by  the  United 
States  is  the  diffusion  of  material  well-being  among  the  popula- 
tion. No  country  in  the  world  approaches  the  United  States  in 
this  respect.  It  is  seen  in  that  diffused  elementary  education 
which  implants  for  life  a  habit  of  reading,  and  in  the  habitual 
optimism  which  characterizes  the  common  people.  It  is  seen  in 
the  housing  of  the  people  and  of  their  domestic  animals,  in  the 
comparative  costliness  of  their  food,  clothing,  and  household 
furniture,  in  their  implements,  vehicles,  and  means  of  trans- 
portation, and  in  the  substitution,  on  a  prodigious  scale,  of  the 
work  of  machinery  for  the  work  of  men's  hands.  This  last  item 
in  American  well-being  is  quite  as  striking  in  agriculture,  mining, 
and  fishing,  as  it  is  in  manufactures.  The  social  effects  of  the 
manufacture  of  power,  and  of  the  discovery  of  means  of  putting 
that  power  just  where  it  is  wanted,  have  been  more  striking  in  the 
United  States  than  anywhere  else.  Manufactured  and  distrib- 
uted power  needs  intelligence  to  direct  it:  the  bicycle  is  a  blind 
horse,  and  must  be  steered  at  every  instant;  somebody  must 
show  a  steam-drill  where  to  strike  and  how  deep  to  go.  So  far 
as  men  and  women  can  substitute  for  the  direct  expenditure  of 
muscular  strength  the  more  intelligent  effort  of  designing,  tend- 
ing, and  guiding  machines,  they  win  promotion  in  the  scale  of 
being,  and  make  their  lives  more  interesting  as  well  as  more 
productive.  It  is  in  the  invention  of  machinery  for  producing 
and  distributing  power,  and  at  once  economizing  and  elevating 
human  labor,  that  American  ingenuity  has  been  most  con- 
spicuously manifested.  The  high  price  of  labor  in  a  sparsely 
settled  country  has  had  something  to  do  with  this  striking  result; 
but  the  genius  of  the  people  and  of  their  government  has  had 
much  more  to  do  with  it.  As  proof  of  the  general  proposition, 
it  suffices  merely  to  mention  the  telegraph  and  telephone,  the 
IV  [  23  ] 


THE   SUCCESSES 

sewing-machine,  the  cotton-gin,  the  mower,  reaper,  and  thresh- 
ing-machine, the  dish-washing  machine,  the  river  steamboat,  the 
sleeping-car,  the  boot  and  shoe  machinery,  and  the  watch  ma- 
chinery. The  uhimate  effects  of  these  and  kindred  inventions 
are  quite  as  much  intellectual  as  physical,  and  they  are  develop- 
ing and  increasing  with  a  portentous  rapidity  which  sometimes 
suggests  a  doubt  whether  the  bodily  forces  of  men  and  women 
are  adequate  to  resist  the  new  mental  strains  brought  upon  them. 
However  this  may  prove  to  be  in  the  future,  the  clear  result  in  the 
present  is  an  unexampled  diffusion  of  well-being  in  the  United 
States. 

These  five  contributions  to  civilization — peace-keeping,  relig- 
ious toleration,  the  development  of  manhood  suffrage,  the  wel- 
coming of  new-comers,  and  the  diffusion  of  well-being — I  hold  to 
have  been  eminently  characteristic  of  our  country,  and  so  im- 
portant that,  in  spite  of  the  qualifications  and  deductions  which 
every  candid  citizen  would  admit  with  regard  to  every  one  of 
them,  they  will  ever  be  held  in  the  grateful  remembrance  of  man- 
kind. They  are  reasonable  grounds  for  a  steady,  glowing 
patriotism.  They  have  had  much  to  do,  both  as  causes  and  as 
effects,  with  the  material  prosperity  of  the  United  States;  but 
they  are  all  five  essentially  moral  contributions,  being  triumphs 
of  reason,  enterprise,  courage,  faith,  and  justice,  over  passion, 
selfishness,  inertness,  timidity,  and  distrust.  Beneath  each  one 
of  these  developments  there  lies  a  strong  ethical  sentiment,  a 
strenuous  moral  and  social  purpose.  It  is  for  such  work  that 
multitudinous  democracies  are  fit. 

In  regard  to  all  five  of  these  contributions,  the  characteristic 
policy  of  our  country  has  been  from  time  to  time  threatened  with 
reversal — is  even  now  so  threatened.  It  is  for  true  patriots  to 
insist  on  the  maintenance  of  these  historic  purposes  and  policies 
of  the  people  of  the  United  States.  Our  country's  future  perils, 
whether  already  visible  or  still  unimagined,  are  to  be  met  with 
courage  and  constancy  founded  firmly  on  these  popular  achieve- 
ments in  the  past. 


IV  [24] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

''THE  MAN  OF  THE  PAST" 

BY 

E.  KAY  ROBINSON 


T7R0M  this  general  oiUline  oj  the  organization  of  our  world 
-*  oj  to-day,  its  position,  its  plans  and  its  problems,  we  turn 
now  to  look  more  closely  at  the  details.  First,  we  must  go  hack  to 
the  earliest  problem  oj  all,  we  must  look  to  our  race's  very  beginning, 
to  the  origin  oj  lije  itselj,  and  oj  mankind.  Our  steps  jail  here  on 
douhtjul  ground,  amid  vague  mists.  We  attempt  to  penetrate 
through  ages  immeasurable,  through  years  that  perhaps  ap- 
proach the  infinite.  Science  ofjers  herselj  as  our  guide  and  guard; 
yet  even  Science  is  here  wavering  and  uncertain,  must  soar 
through  these  dim  regions  on  wings  oj  the  imagination,  must 
answer  us  with  injerence  and  supposition,  rather  than  with  defi- 
nite conclusions,  positive  and  ascertainable  jacts,  such  as  ordi- 
narily she  prejers  to  dwell  among,  and  jrom  which  she  gathers  all 
her  strength. 

It  were  well  also  to  premise  that  this  backward  glance  involves 
no  problem  oj  religion.  There  is  no  modern  churchman  who 
would  maintain  that  suddenly,  in  an  instant  oj  time,  man  was 
created  out  oj  good,  brown  dirt.  The  creative  process  jrom  which 
the  human  body  sprang,  extended  over  centuries,  over  eons  oj  time. 
The  length,  the  giant  reach  oj  this  slow  process,  does  not,  however, 
afject  the  jact  oj  the  creation.  Science  is  quick  and  eager  to  insist 
on  this.  Nor  does  the  long  time  lessen  the  wonder  oj  the  jact.  To 
many  minds,  indeed,  it  does  but  increase  the  mystery,  the  ''miracle " 
oj  unending  patience,  oj  jar-sighted  purpose,  oj  a  wisdom  beyond 
our  thought  or  measure. 

V  [I] 


THE   BEGINNINGS 

But  these  words  are  beside  the  intention  oj  the  present  address. 
The  duty  oj  religion  is  with  the  soul,  not  with  the  body;  with  the 
future^  not  with  the  past;  with  the  purpose  of  creation^  not  the 
physical  facts  employed  in  its  accomplishment.  It  is  these  physi- 
cal facts  which  are  here  imagined  and  arrayed  jor  us  by  Mr.  E. 
Kay  Robins  on  J  the  well-known  English  scientific  writer. 

About  twenty  years  ago  I  was  permitted  to  introduce  to 
readers  the  man  of  the  future,  that  mysterious  being  who  will 
look  back  across  the  dim  gulf  of  time  upon  us,  his  ancestors,  with 
much  of  the  same  incredulous  but  not  unkindly  scorn  with  which 
we  mentally  caricature  the  poor  '  Missing  Link '  in  the  chain  of 
human  genealogy.  '  The  man  of  the  future,'  I  then  said, '  will  be 
a  toothless,  hairless,  and  stiff-limbed  being,  incapable  of  ex- 
tended locomotion,  with  no  divisions  between  the  toes,  and 
priding  himself  upon  various  other  "developments"  which 
would  not  at  the  present  time  be  regarded  as  improvements.' 
Much  has  been  written  on  the  subject  since  then ;  but  the  general 
tendency  of  essayists  is  to  confirm  the  view  which  I  had  some- 
what abruptly  expressed,  and  to  agree  that  the  man  of  the  future 
will  hold  his  place,  in  the  foremost  files  of  time  to  come,  by  brain 
power  alone,  discarding  the  animal  characteristics  of  teeth  and 
hair,  agihty  and  combativeness,  and  disdaining  the  retention  of 
such  useless  peculiarities  as  independent  toes,  each  liable  to  the 
drawback  of  corns  and  chilblains. 

It  was  not  easy,  however,  even  in  the  enthusiasm  of  youth, 
surfeited  with  Darwinism,  to  feel  altogether  proud  of  so  maimed 
a  descendant;  and  as  years  pass  retrospect  becomes  the  more 
congenial  habit  of  thought.  Youth  is  the  age  of  enthusiasm  and 
curiosity  as  to  the  future;  for  youth  has  no  past  of  its  own,  and 
therefore  Httle  sympathy  with  the  past  of  the  world  at  large.  As 
the  vista  of  years  lengthens  behind  us,  however,  we  fall  to  count- 
ing the  milestones  of  our  journey  through  Hf  e,  and  this  draws  our 
eyes  to  the  more  distant  landscape,  with  its  dim  traces  of  the 
devious  paths  trodden  by  those  before  us. 

Science  has  not  yet  thrown  her  search-hghts  to  the  uttermost 
horizon  of  that  misty  landscape,  and  mortal  vision  still  has  Hmits 
which  prevent  us  from  seeing  what  the  ancestor  of  humanity 

V  [2] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

was  like  before  he  became  an  entity.  Even  the  outHnes  of  his 
earhest  being  within  our  scientific  ken  are  a  trifle  blurred  and  in- 
distinct. We  must  therefore  be  content  with  the  general  assur- 
ance that  the  original  man,  the  ancestor  of  the  human  race,  was 
what  would  in  modern  language  be  loosely  described  as  a  micro- 
scopic dab  of  mud. 

There  are  persons  of  considerable  scientific  attainments,  still 
outside  lunatic  asylums,  who  cherish  the  hope  of  discovering  the 
secret  of  the  beginning  of  life  by  witnessing  some  process  of 
spontaneous  generation  of  microbes  in  bottled  fluid;  and  other 
persons  of  equal  or  even  greater  scientific  attainments  have 
thought  it  worth  while  to  conduct  elaborate  experiments  to  com- 
bat the  views  of  the  others.  Both  ahke  seem  to  forget  that  the 
microbe  of  the  present  day — however  simple  his  organization 
may  appear  to  the  limited  power  of  such  microscopes  as  we 
already  possess,  or  to  the  clumsy  touch  of  our  chemical  analyses 
— stands,  as  man  himself  does,  at  the  end  of  a  long  fine  of  pro- 
gressive development.  His  family  is  as  ancient  as  ours;  and, 
like  us,  he  has  partly  created  and  partly  accommodated  himself 
to  the  conditions  which  now  prevail  upon  this  planet.  He  is  as 
much  at  home  as  we  are  in  this  world  of  the  twentieth  century, 
and  on  the  whole  he  has  succeeded  in  making  himself  fairly  com- 
fortable. He  is,  too,  the  only  rival  whom  we  need  fear  as  an 
enemy.  Man  will  never  extinguish  the  microbe,  but  the  microbe 
may  extinguish  man.  To  expect  him  spontaneously  to  generate 
himself  in  a  bottle  of  fluid  is,  then,  no  less  insulting  than  would 
be  the  proposal  to  build  a  hermetically  sealed  town  and  after  a 
lapse  of  a  certain  time  expect  it  to  be  filled  with  men  and  women, 
or  at  least  babies.  If  these  men  of  science  really  desire  to  see  as 
much  of  the  beginning  of  life  as  is  possible  nowadays,  let  them 
take  a  basin  of  water,  empty  their  solutions  into  it,  and  throw  in 
the  empty  bottles  and  corks  afterward.  Then  they  will  see  the 
beginning  of  hf e  with  the  naked  eye  on  the  surface  of  the  water  in 
the  basin. 

For  what  will  they  see?  The  empty  bottles  and  the  corks  will, 
without  assistance,  either  attach  themselves  to  the  sides  of  the 
basin  or  cluster  together  in  the  centre ;  while  those  bottles  which 
can  get  rid  of  the  air  inside  them  will  dive  to  the  bottom.     When 

V  [3] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

Newton  saw  the  apple  fall,  he  made  a  shrewd  guess  ^  a  great 
truth ;  but  he  did  not  discover  that  what  he  saw  was  Life  itself. 
He  saw  the  attraction  of  the  earth  for  the  apple,  and  we  call  the 
principle  'gravitation':  but  if  the  apple  had  fallen,  Hke  our 
hypothetical  empty  bottles,  into  a  basin  of  water,  it  would  have 
bobbed  up  again  to  the  surface,  and  ultimately  have  attached 
itself  to  the  side,  unless  indeed  there  had  been  other  objects  in 
the  basin,  whose  company  it  might  have  sought  by  preference. 
Attraction  is,  in  fact,  not  only  the  universal  law  of  Hfe,  but  it  is 
life  itself.  So  far  as  those  empty  bottles  and  that  apple  possess 
individual  life  and  power  of  action,  they  display  it  by  forcing 
their  way  through  the  air  or  the  water  in  order  to  attach  them- 
selves to  the  object  that  attracts  them  most.  How  nearly  this 
process  approaches  in  appearance  sometimes  to  the  highest  de- 
velopment of  dehberate  choice,  as  we  recognize  that  function  in 
ourselves,  may  be  witnessed  by  any  one  curious  enough  to  float, 
say,  a  wooden  match  and  ^  few  grains  of  sawdust  in  some  water. 
If  the  water  could  be  kept  absolutely  motionless  it  is  possible  that 
the  separate  grains  of  sawdust  and  the  match  might  be  kept 
apart  indefinitely,  each  pinned,  as  it  were,  to  its  own  spot  on  the 
surface  of  the  water  by  the  attraction  of  the  earth,  although  the 
water,  being  still  more  strongly  attracted,  would  insist  upon 
occupying  the  nearer  place  and  so  keep  the  wood  floating  aloft. 
But  in  ordinary  circumstances  the  water  would  sooner  or  later  be 
disturbed,  moving  the  grains  of  sawdust  hither  and  thither,  until 
one.  by  one  they  come  into  the  sphere  of  attraction  of  each  other 
or  the  match  or  the  side  of  the  vessel.  It  is  when  they  are  at- 
tracted to  the  match  that  the  phenomenon  is  most  interesting. 
There  is  almost  the  coyness  of  courtship  in  their  circling  ap- 
proach, until  they  are  quite  close,  and  then  it  is  by  a  positive  leap 
that  they  throw  themselves  upon  the  attractive  object  and  remain 
closely  attached  to  it,  insomuch  that  the  water  may  be  rudely 
disturbed  without  separating  them.  This  not  only  looks  like 
life — it  is  hfe :  and  we  may  sec  it  also  in  the  stone  which,  f alHng 
into  a  well,  does  exactly  what  you  or  I  would  do.  It  obeys  the 
downward  attraction  of  the  earth,  but  at  the  same  time  recog- 
nizes that  of  the  wall  of  the  well  by  swerving  toward  and  striking 
it  before  reaching  the  bottom. 

V  [4] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

Now  let  us  return  to  our  ancestor,  the  prehistoric  dab  of  mud 
which  retrospective  vision  dimly  discerns  seated  on  the  surface 
of  an  as  yet  inchoate  world.  It  would  be  more  correct,  perhaps, 
to  say  in  the  surface;  for  it  is  only  with  the  eye  of  imagination 
that  we  can  elevate  him  above  his  fellows,  and  promote  him  to 
the  status  of  a  distinguishable  entity,  breaking  the  sky-Hne  of 
that  distant  horizon.  We  may  take  him  up  by  the  pound  with 
the  spade  of  fancy,  and  he  will  slide  back  into  his  parent  chaos, 
mere  slime.  Yet  even  in  the  sUme  of  the  past  there  were  grada- 
tions of  rank  among  its  particles.  Let  us  lay  down  the  spade 
and  filter  the  ooze  through  the  meshes  of  thought;  much— most 
of  it— sUdes  through,  intangible  and  imperceptible  to  the  touch, 
but  some  remains.  What  ?  Particles  of  matter.  And  here  we 
reach  the  first  milestone  of  human  history. 

What  constituted  this  prehistoric  particle  of  matter,  our  pen- 
ultimate parent,  so  far  as  our  present  family  knowledge  extends  ? 
We  may  be  content  with  knowing,  from  our  acquaintance  with 
the  general  law  of  attraction,  that  a  particle  of  homogeneous 
matter  large  enough  to  be  retained  in  the  meshes  of  a  common- 
place mind  must  be  composed  of  minor  atoms  sticking  together. 
We  have  seen  how  grains  of  sawdust  stick  together  in  the  water; 
we  can  see  how  grains  of  water  stick  together  in  a  drop  at  the  end 
of  our  wet  finger;  it  requires,  therefore,  no  great  effort  to  see  how, 
in  the  ooze  where  the  first  scenes  in  the  drama  of  human  Uf  e  were 
played,  atoms  stuck  together  and  made  particles.  It  does  not 
matter  how  large  or  small  atoms  or  particles  may  be — I  use  no 
word  in  a  severely  scientific  or  unintelligible-to-the- vulgar  sense 
— we  know  that  the  law  of  attraction  made  those,  which  had 
attraction  for  each  other  and  came  sufficiently  near  to  each  other, 
stick  together.  How  tightly  they  adhered  does  not  matter  either ; 
the  fact  that  they  adhered  is  sufficient,  because  it  means  that 
they  showed  life,  and  with  the  commencement  of  life  commenced 
their  struggle  for  continued  and  improved  existence,  and  their 
upward  march  toward  the  top-hatted  and  kid- gloved  style  now 
affected  by  their  descendants. 

Viewed  across  so  vast  a  stretch  of  time,  with  its  innumerable 
milestones  graduating  almost  to  invisible  infinity,  the  progress 
our  ancestors  had  so  far  made  may  not  appear  extensive.     But 

V  [S] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

the  first  step  of  the  journey  is  the  most  important ;  they  had  made 
a  start  and  in  the  right  direction.  They  had  individuaUzed 
themselves  among  the  surrounding  slime,  and  had  acquired  a 
new  status  and  new  power.  The  fruit-vender  who  places  the 
largest  strawberries  at  the  top  of  the  basket  might  plead  that  he 
does  so  in  obedience  to  a  natural  law:  for,  other  things  being 
equal,  it  is  undeniably  the  rule  in  this  world  of  stress  and  struggle 
for  existence,  that  the  biggest  comes  to  the  top.  Sometimes  other 
things  are  not  equal,  and  the  biggest  sinks  by  sheer  weight, 
which  may  be  only  another  phrase  for  incapacity  to  rise.  The 
truth  of  both  axioms  may  be  observed  by  the  simple  experiment 
of  gently  shaking  a  little  mixed  bird-seed  in  a  wine-glass.  The 
larger  seeds  will  come  to  the  surface ;  but  the  superior  size  of  the 
stones  with  which  the  dishonest  seed-merchant  has  eked  out  the 
weight  of  his  wares  avails  them  naught.  They  can  be  descried 
through  the  glass,  sinking  ignobly  to  the  bottom,  past  even  the 
smallest  and  most  insignificant  of  the  seeds.  And  herein  we  see 
repeated  the  first  parting  that  our  ancestors  suffered — when  one 
branch  of  the  family  by  its  inert  weight  had  to  sink  down  below 
and  people  the  interior  of  the  earth  with  stones  and  minerals, 
while  the  other  remained  above  to  cover  the  surface  with  life  and 
beauty.  From  this  momentous  epoch  in  our  history,  when  we 
became  the  'upper  classes,'  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
struggle  for  existence  of  our  poor  relations,  the  stones. 

Since  they  parted  company  with  us  and  came  down  in  the 
world,  they  have  gone  through  great  trials,  and  have,  like  human 
unfortunates,  suffered  the  extremes  of  heat  and  cold — now 
molten  into  igneous  strata,  and  now  cloven  by  the  frost  of  glacial 
epochs.  But  they  have  also  achieved  great  things:  and  there 
are  beauties  in  gem  and  crystal,  stalactite  and  ores  of  rainbow 
hue,  in  marbles  and  alabasters,  which  still  move  our  minds  with 
the  sense  of  a  beauty  kindred  to  the  loveliest  products  of  the 
Hf e — the  higher  life,  as  we  are  justified  in  regarding  it — to  which 
our  branch  of  the  family  has  attained;  just  as,  in  India,  you  may 
often  find  the  loveliest  women  in  the  lowest  castes. 

We  soon  forgot  our  poor  relations,  however:  for  one  step 
necessitates  another,  and  the  position  of  our  ancestors,  in  the  sur- 
face of  the  slough  which  the  world  of  the  past  resembled,  sub- 
V  [6] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

jected  them  to  the  inevitable  process  of  knocking  against  other 
things  and  each  other  whenever  natural  movements  agitated 
their  surrounding  slime.  In  such  conditions  it  was  inevitable 
that  they  should,  Hke  pebbles  upon  a  wave- washed  beach,  tend 
to  assume  a  rounded  or  oval  outline ;  and  with  the  conservatism 
that  is  the  marked  characteristic  of  the  animal  and  vegetable 
kingdom  this  early  shape  of  our  common  ancestors  is  retained  in 
the  beginning  of  all  Hf  e,  as  in  the  eggs  of  birds,  reptiles,  and  in- 
sects, and  the  seeds  of  plants :  while  the  fact  that  we  and  other 
mammals  have  left  off  the  habit  of  laying  eggs  need  not  fill  us 
with  unseemly  progressive  pride.  Comparative  anatomy  shows 
that  we  are  still  conservative  to  the  backbone  in  our  allegiance  to 
types  that  were  ours  before  we  had  backbones ;  for  even  we  are 
oviform  in  our  earHest  beginnings.  The  first  triumph,  then,  of 
our  ancestors  was  to  be  able  to  maintain  their  position  at  the  top 
of  things,  generally  by  their  superior  size  and  what  we  may  call 
in  a  prophetic  sense  their  agility,  as  opposed  to  the  inert  weight 
of  their  relatives  who  sank  to  make  the  mineral  world ;  and  the 
second  was  the  accidental  acquisition  of  an  oval  shape,  which 
enabled  them  to  survive  the  buffetings  of  their  neighbors.  But 
if  they  imagined  that  the  struggle  for  existence  was  finally  de- 
cided by  those  two  achievements,  the  subsequent  experiences  of 
us,  their  descendants,  show  how  vastly  they  were  mistaken.  In 
what  way,  then,  did  this  struggle  for  existence  next  spur  them  on 
to  self -improvement  ?  It  is  obvious  that  those  were  most  favor- 
ably circumstanced  who  possessed,  in  addition  to  relative  size 
and  regularity  of  outHne,  a  special  power  of  cohesion  beyond  the 
ordinary  attraction  of  matter  to  matter.  We  see  varying  degrees 
of  attraction  around  us  every  day  of  our  lives :  we  feel  them  in 
the  presence  of  victuals  and  drink,  in  the  choice  of  occupations, 
and  above  all  in  the  vicinity  of  the  opposite  sex.  The  various 
forms  and  degrees  of  special  attraction  may,  therefore,  be  de- 
scribed as  affinity ;  and  our  ancestors  certainly  belonged  to  that 
section  of  the  upper  classes  of  the  upper  past  whose  constituent 
parts  possessed  marked  affinity  for  each  other.  A  particle 
otherwise  composed  would  have  within  it  a  force  constantly 
tending  to  disruption,  and  in  the  long  run  this  tendency  to  decom- 
position would  prove  a  decisive  disadvantage  in  the  struggle  for 

V  [7] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

existence.  And  among  the  survivors  new  subtle  distinctions 
were  soon  observable — just  as  among  their  successors  of  the 
present  day  there  is  always  an  elite  of  the  elite — owing  to  the  birth 
of  the  discriminating  faculty.  In  proportion  to  the  afFmity  of  the 
elements  composing  these  early  beings  would  be  their  position 
in  its  substance.  Those  which  were  the  more  strongly  attracted 
would  be  drawn  to  the  centre ;  those  less  privileged  would  stand 
in  a  ring  outside,  getting  as  near  the  centre  as  they  could;  the 
unattractive  detrimentals  would  be  severely  dropped.  Thus 
each  of  our  ancestors  was,  as  one  of  their  wise  descendants  has 
discovered  of  modern  man,  a  microcosm  in  himself,  with  satel- 
lites in  their  orbits  round  his  centre.  And  even  as  suitable 
atoms  came  within  the  radius  of  his  attraction  they  took  their 
proper  place,  and  the  larger  he  grew  the  more  attractive  he 
seemed  and  the  ring  of  outsiders  grew  closer.  Thus,  although 
to  the  eye  of  fact  our  ancestor  was  still  scarcely,  if  at  all,  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  shme  in  which  he  continued  to  reside,  he 
had  made  a  great  stride  up  the  ladder  of  evolution.  He  had 
mastered  the  secret  of  assimilation  and  of  growth.  For  we 
must  note  here  the  wide  potential  distinction  between  this  form 
of  development  and  the  mere  accretion  by  which  minerals  in- 
crease in  bulk.  The  growth  of  our  ancestors  took  place  by 
means  of  absorption  and  selection  of  what  we  would  now  call 
food,  which  was  separated  into  its  constituent  elements  according 
to  their  attractiveness,  and  distributed  to  the  various  parts  of 
the  body.  In  other  words,  our  ancestor  digested  and  assimilated 
his  food ;  and,  at  that  stage,  man  could  do  no  more.  Stones  have 
not  learned  to  do  it  yet. 

The  faculty  which  next  calls  for  notice,  though  all  matter  had 
possessed  it  from  the  first,  is  that  of  motion.  Everything  which 
was  attracted  to  anything  else  moved  toward  it ;  but  our  ances- 
tor belonged  to  that  fortunate  class  of  beings  whose  complex  at- 
tractions were  so  evenly  balanced  that  he  was  always  drawn 
whither  it  was  advantageous  to  be.  He  was  neither  too  earthy 
nor  too  spiritual  in  his  affinities :  he  was  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
as  such  kept  himself  always  in  evidence.  As  he  attracted  attrac- 
tive particles  to  his  inside,  so  was  he  drawn  in  the  direction  where 
attractive  particles  were  thickest.  Thus  early  was  developed 
V  [8] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

that  faculty  of  mankind  during  social  entertainments  to  cluster 
round  the  bars  and  supper-tables.  Oh!  man  was  getting  on! 
And  here  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  attraction,  we  may  call  it 
the  yearning,  of  our  ancestor  for  his  food  proceeded  directly 
from  his  inside ;  that  is  to  say,  the  central  part  of  him,  which  had 
the  strongest  attraction  for  the  stuff  he  wanted,  was  the  part 
which  drew  him  toward  it.  We,  his  superior  descendants,  have 
a  brain  which  polices  our  actions,  and  we  do  not  reach  after  a 
sandwich  with  our  stomachs.  But  we  need  not  be  proud.  Our 
relatives,  the  amoeba  and  the  star-fish  and  others,  do  this  thing 
still,  and  the  habit  is  one  to  which  we  owe  much.  In  default  of 
organs  of  prehension,  mastication,  and  so  on,  it  was  something 
for  our  ancestor  to  be  able  to  reach  out,  as  it  were,  with  some- 
thing for  his  dinner.  Not  that,  in  all  probability,  he  greedily  ex- 
truded his  simple  internal  arrangements.  It  sufficed  if  their 
tendency  was  to  gravitate  toward  that  margin  of  his  ovoid  person 
near  which  the  food  was  situated.  The  rest  was  simple,  for  the 
outer  ring-rind  (or  skin  we  might  call  it  nowadays)  of  semi- 
attractive  atoms  with  which  he  had  clothed  himself  had  no  such 
cohesion  as  to  refuse  admittance  to  a  favored  morsel.  It  was 
against  our  first  parent's  claim  to  very  high  rank,  as  rank  goes  in 
modern  times,  that  he  took  in  his  food  at  any  part  of  his  person ; 
but  here,  again,  the  amoeba — what  evolutionists  would  have 
done  without  the  amoeba  I  cannot  say — comes  to  our  rescue. 
The  amoeba  does  it,  unblushingly,  in  the  glare  of  this  so-called 
twentieth  century. 

And  here  we  come  to  the  penultimate  triumph  of  life;  namely, 
the  faculty  of  reproduction.  Hitherto  the  hfe  of  the  individual 
was  indefinite.  The  influence*  of  the  sun  was  necessary  to  pro- 
duce that  equipoise  of  conflicting  attractions — the  earhest  'bal- 
ance of  power '  known  in  mundane  politics — which  enabled  our 
honest  ancestor  to  hold  his  own  among  others,  as  may  be  seen 
from  the  diurnal  rotation  of  our  elementary  functions.  The  in- 
fluence of  the  moon  had  much  to  say  in  the  matter  also :  witness 
the  lunar  periods  in  the  life  of  many  animals.  And  that  we  are 
of  the  earth,  earthy,  goes  without  saying:  else  we  would  not  be 
glued  to  it  by  our  feet  all  our  lives.  Those  creatures  survived 
(our  ancestor  among  the  number)  who  were  able  to  accommo- 

V  [9] 


THE   BEGINNINGS 

date  themselves  to  the  changing  conditions  created  by  these  con- 
flicting influences.  We  were  Hke  frontier  tribes  in  Central  Asia, 
displaying  afl  kinds  of  unexpected  forms  of  activity,  according  as 
one  or  another  '  sphere  of  influence '  overlapped  us.  And  when  I 
say  '  we,'  I  do  not  mean  that  at  this  period  of  evolution  there  were 
lots  of  us.  All  the  hopes  of  humanity  were  centred  in  one  per- 
son, and  with  ah  the  good-will  in  the  world  I  cannot  distinguish 
him,  our  ancestor,  from  the  other  dabs  of  mud  around  him.  I 
would  throw  my  arms  around  his  neck  if  I  could  find  him:  but 
he  had  no  neck,  and  did  not  appreciably  differ  from  what,  in  our 
vulgar  modern  way,  we  should  call  'sludge'  or  something  Hke 
that. 

And  the  first  accident  which  happened  to  him,  although  it 
prepared  the  way  for  the  pubhcation  of  Darwin's  'Origin  of 
Species,'  would  have  appeared  to  his  limited  vision,  if  he  had  had 
any,  in  the  Hght  of  a  misfortune.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  it 
was  at  the  close  of  an  unusually  hot  day  in  spring  that  he  got  left 
high  and  dry  above  the  high-water  mark  of  the  period.  Not 
very  dry,  because  everything,  including  the  air,  was  wet  in  those 
days,  but  still  out  of  his  element  rather.  And  it  is  always  this 
factor  of  novel,  and  apparently  unsuitable,  environment  which 
has  brought  out  the  highest  qualities  of  the  human  race.  Driven 
by  necessity  he  invented — invenio,  *I  come  into,'  therefore  'I 
find  out,'  therefore  '  I  invent ' — reproduction.  Let  us  think  what 
this  means.  Hitherto  the  fife  of  a  species,  or  a  genus,  or  a  king- 
dom, had  been  the  Hf e  of  the  individual.  It  did  not  matter  how 
cleverly  our  ancestor  or  any  of  the  other  persons  who  might  have 
become  the  ancestors  of  beings  totally  different  from  ourselves 
adapted 'themselves  to  their  surroundings:  without  reproduc- 
tion, the  world  would  have  been  fifled  only  with  the  original  in- 
dividuals who  were  once  microscopic  dabs  of  mud.  All  that  was 
needed  for  everlasting  existence  was  the  faculty  of  adaptation  to 
the  various  forces  of  attraction.  We  see  one  instance  in  the 
successful  adaptation  of  the  air  to  the  circumstances  of  life.  The 
air  was  a  creature,  just  like  our  first  ancestor — more  volatile  and 
lively  perhaps,  and  less  severely  handicapped  in  the  struggle  for 
existence.  And  it  has  made  no  progress.  It  goes  on  attracting 
suitable  elements  into  itself  when  it  can,  and  parting  with  them 
V  [lo] 


THE   BEGINNINGS 

when  it  must ;  and  it  has  grown  to  an  immense  size.  It  covers 
the  whole  earth :  but,  hke  the  human  beings  of  tropical  chmes,  it 
has  not  yet  found  any  incentive  to  further  evolution  because  it 
has  never  been  placed  in  sufficiently  difficult  circumstances.  So 
far  as  we  know,  it  is  the  same  air  that  rose  aloft  when  our  ances- 
tor grovelled  in  the  sHme  ever  so  long  ago.  It  has  remained  'it,' 
while  we  have  become  'he's'  and  'she's.'  The  water  is  another 
creature  who  has  been  able  to  flow  along  in  its  old  course  without 
interruption,  so  far  as  we  know :  although  the  glacial  epoch  may 
have  hit  it  hard,  and  the  Flood  have  buoyed  it  up  with  fooUsh 
hopes  of  swallowing  the  whole  wide  world.  It  did  not  reckon 
with  the  insignificant  creature  who,  whether  in  the  Ark  or  by 
other  means,  weathered  the  era  of  water's  dominion,  and  has 
emerged  triumphant  to  build  bridges  and  water-mills  and  ocean- 
going ships,  and  now  talks  of  using  the  'wasted'  strength  of 
water  to  do  all  his  work  for  him,  turn  his  machinery,  light  his 
house,  and  provide  the  force  for  driving  his  tricycle.  Here  we 
see  on  a  world-wide  scale  the  grand  triumph  of  those  who  have 
struggled  against  difficulties,  as  in  detail  we  see  it  also  in  the 
victory  of  Northern  European  races  over  the  soft  and  luxurious 
inhabitants  of  the  '  Sunny  South '  and  tropics. 

Well,  our  ancestor  might  have  had  the  good,  or  bad,  luck  to 
find  himself  so  adapted  to  surrounding  circumstances  that  he 
continued  to  expand  and  grow,  swallowing  everything  he  had  a 
mind  to,  until  his  shmy,  shapeless  bulk  covered  what  we  call  con- 
tinents and  oceans,  and  became  in  size  a  w^orthy  rival  of  the  air 
and  the  water,  and  an  example  to  the  various  minerals  cramped 
down  below  in  their  restricted  areas.  But  in  that  case  he  would 
not  have  been  our  ancestor,  because  it  was  only  owing  to  the  fact 
that  he  met  with  an  accident  in  being  cast  up  beyond  the  reach 
of  ordinary  tides  that  he  was  compelled  to  invent  reproduction. 
He  may  not  have  seemed  happy  at  first.  The  air  scoffmgly 
passed  over  his  surface  and  dried  his  skin :  but  he  took  what  he 
wanted,  all  the  same,  from  the  air  as  it  passed.  His  more  fluid 
portions  displayed  an  unworthy  inclination  to  sink  into  the 
ground,  but  he  got  something  out  of  the  ground  too.  And  when 
the  sun  rose  next  morning,  it  shone  upon  something  just  a  little 
different  from  anything  which  it  had  seen  before.  Shrivelled 
V  [II] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

somewhat,  and  as  deplorable  as  a  stranded  jelly-fish,  our  ances- 
tor boldly  met  the  gaze  of  the  sun — for  was  not  he  the  prospec- 
tive father  of  Britons  ? — and  he  took  what  he  wanted  from  the 
sunlight.  So  the  day  passed  and  the  night,  and  other  days  and 
nights  to  follow,  until  another  high  tide  came  at  the  full  moon 
and  washed  over  our  parent  once  more.  And  what  happened 
then  ?  During  his  long  rest  between  high- water  marks  he  had 
got  stuck  too  tightly  to  the  ground  to  leave  it  again.  Some  of 
him  had  indeed  sunk  into  the  crevices  between  particles  of  the 
soil — a  habit  which  the  roots  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  have  in- 
herited and  improved  upon — and  held  him  where  he  was.  But 
the  bulk  of  him  strove  to  obey  loyally  the  old  impulse  that  used 
to  draw  him  upward  to  the  sunlight  when  he  was  what  natural- 
ists would  call  a  free-swimming  embryo  of  his  present  self.  The 
attraction  of  food  was  strong  upon  him  also,  and  the  moon  that 
drew  up  the  tides  strained  him,  too,  toward  her.  Thus  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  felt,  as  Britain  felt  when  the  American 
colonies  claimed  the  right  to  independence,  that  he  must  part 
with  a  portion  of  himself.  It  stretched  upward,  and  the  bond 
that  held  them  together  grew  thinner  and  weaker.  His  rind — 
may  I  call  it  'skin'? — assumed  an  elongated  shape,  with  an 
hour-glass  constriction  between  the  part  which  held  to  the  earth 
and  the  part  that  would  float  through  the  water.  At  last,  with  a 
wrench  almost  like  that  of  dissolution,  it  parted ;  and  a  fragment 
of  him,  small,  globular,  and  free,  as  once  he  was  himself,  rose 
upward  to  the  sunlight  or  to  bask  in  the  moon's  rays.  What 
was  left  of  our  ancestor  settled  down  again,  contentedly,  for  he 
had  borne  a  son.  Nor  was  that  the  only  one.  The  changing 
seasons  brought  him  new  opportunities  of  growth,  and  at  favor- 
able periods  he  cast  off  in  the  same  way  other  fragments  of  him- 
self ;  and  continued  doing  so  to  a  very  great  age,  until  perhaps 
his  great-great-great-  and  so  on  grandchildren  who  had  risen  in 
the  world  would  have  been  ashamed  to  recognize  the  simple  old 
fellow,  with  no  organs  and  no  specialized  functions  whatever,  as 
their  ancestor.     We  are  not  so  proud. 

We  cannot  be  certain,  of  course,  that  this  new  power  of  re- 
production was  gained  by  a  single  individual  only,  or  that  evolu- 
tion had  taken  place  in  no  other  directions.     The  earth  was  filled 
V  [12] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

with  rude  variations  of  types,  which  were  holding  their  own  in 
the  struggle  for  existence,  because  the  favorable  circumstances 
which  gave  each  of  them  a  start  were  being  incessantly  repeated 
with  the  changes  of  days  and  seasons.  But  our  concern  is  with 
our  ancestor  and  his  progeny  only.  These  might  not  have  sur- 
vived, and  quite  a  different  being  to  myself  might  now  be  specu- 
lating upon  the  origin  of  the  world's  inhabitants,  but  for  the  fact 
that  our  ancestor's  children  proved  themselves  to  be  true  chips  of 
the  old  block.  He  had  invented  reproduction :  they  responded 
with 'heredity.' 

When  the  sun  rose  next  day  there  may  have  been  little  pr 
nothing  in  the  appearance  of  these  individuals  to  mark  their 
immense  potential  difference  from  their  comrades  all  around. 
There  was  no  analytical  chemist  to  examine  them  and  demon- 
strate that  they  were  composed  of  exactly  the  same  elements  in 
the  same  combination  as  their  father ;  and  there  were  no  men  of 
science  to  draw  the  conclusion  that,  when  chance  threw  them  into 
the  same  situation  as  that  into  which  he  had  originally  fallen, 
they  would  behave  exactly  as  he  did.  Yet  this  is  what  our 
second  ancestor  could  not  help  doing.  He  behaved  as  his  father 
— the  first  father  in  the  world — had  done;  that  is  to  say,  he 
parted  with  portions  of  himself  and  created  new  creatures  in  his 
own  likeness.  Thus  was  death  vanquished.  Hitherto  the  Hfe 
of  all  the  types  in  the  world  ended  with  the  individual;  and 
although  similarity  of  surrounding  circumstances  induced  uni- 
formity, there  was  no  heredity.  Now  there  had  come  into  the 
world  a  creature  with  the  faculty  of  subdividing,  i.e.,  propagat- 
ing, itself. 

In  the  lowest  orders  of  animal  and  plant  Hfe — the  orders,  that 
is  to  say,  which  have  advanced  least  from  our  common  starting- 
point— we  still  find  this  dual  form  of  existence  in  the  shape  of  a 
fixed  parent  with  free-swimming  young,  destined  in  their  turn  to 
become  fixed  and  give  birth  to  free  progeny. 

At  the  first  glance  it  might  not  be  thought  that  much  had 
been  gained  by  this  new  development;  but  let  us  recapitulate. 
Our  ancestor  was  still  not  very  distinguishable  from  a  dab  of 
mud ;  but  he  had  acquired  the  power  of 

(i)  Attracting  or  Drawing  into  his  own  Substance  those  Ele- 

V  [13] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

menis  which  had  for  him  the  Strongest  Affinity — or,  as  we  should 
say  nowadays,  which  he  Hked  most.  Other  less  potently  attract- 
ed elements  went  to  form  his  indurated  integument  or  skin; 
and  yet  others,  unattracted— or,  as  we  say  now,  unattractive  or 
innutritious — were  rejected  altogether.  Thus  in  a  rude  way  he 
performed  the  functions  which  we  now  carry  on  by  means  of 
specialized  organs  when  we  breathe,  eat,  or  drink. 

(2)  Moving  Upward  or  Downward  or  Sideways  when  it 
suited  him — by  which  I  do  not  mean  that  he  exercised  any  inde- 
pendent vohtion,  such  as  we  think  that  we  ourselves  do,  when  he 
went  hither  or  thither,  but  that  he  obeyed  inherited  impulses 
which  tended  to  his  advantage.  If  they  had  not  he  would  not 
have  inherited  them,  for  they  would  have  so  handicapped  his 
ancestors  in  the  struggle  for  existence  that  they  would  not  have 
survived  to  produce  him.  The  only  movements  which  were 
perpetuated,  therefore,  were  such  as  the  accidental  experience 
of  generations  proved  to  be  good  for  the  race;  and  this  remains 
still  the  highest  aim  of  all  our  human  actions. 

(3)  Reproducing  his  Kind. — And  upon  this  accidental  ac- 
quirement the  permanence  and  improvement  of  every  other  gift 
depended.  For  by  the  time  that  our  first  ancestor,  in  the  proper 
hereditary  sense,  produced,  or  rather  detached,  from  himself  his 
first  oviform  offspring,  the  world  was  full  of  what  were  then  the 
highest  types  of  creatures.  That  they  were  not  high  according 
to  modern  ideas  may  be  reahzed  from  the  fact  that  each  indi- 
vidual had  gone  through  the  whole  course  of  evolution  up  to  date 
in  his  own  person.  I  should  not  be  writing  this  article  if  I  had 
to  begin  by  inventing  language;  then  discovering  the  truths  of 
science;  then  bringing  out  the  inventions  of  printing,  paper- 
making,  and  the  manufacture  of  ink  and  machinery ;  then  have 
to  educate  the  pubHc  and  induct  into  their  minds  the  idea  that 
printed  matter  was  worth  purchasing;  then  estabUsh  an  editor, 
and  finally  bring  him  my  article.  I  should  not  have  got  very  far 
into  this  programme  before  death  would  cut  short  my  career. 
No;  many  aeons  ago,  in  the  first  feeble  sound  uttered  by  one 
living  creature  and  heard  by  another,  was  the  germ  and  natural 
origin  of  this  pubHshed  volume.  Therefore  we  must  not  despise 
those  early  contemporaries  of  our  ancestor  who  inherited  nothing 

V  [14] 


THE   BEGINNINGS 

from  their  ancestor  and  had  to  do  all  their  own  origin  of  species 
for  themselves.  Besides,  de  mortuis  nil  nisi  honum;  and  most  of 
them  disappeared  forever  off  the  face  of  the  earth  as  our  family 
multiphed,  thanks  to  the  subtle  advantage  which  its  members 
possessed  of  letting  bits  of  themselves  start  periodically  upon  life 
on  their  own  account.  As  the  other  creatures  broke  up  or  be- 
came decomposed  for  one  reason  or  another,  this  multiplying 
type  gradually  absorbed  their  elements — 'ate  them,'  we  should 
say  now — and  each  fragment  became  in  turn  sufficiently  obese  to 
part  with  more  fragments,  and  so  on,  until  the  world  was  filled 
with  them. 

But  all  this  while  insensible  variations  were  being  introduced 
into  this  hereditary  type.  Infinitely  small  departures  by  accident 
from  the  original  were  found  to  give  new  generations  the  slight 
determining  advantage  which  decides  the  struggle  for  existence : 
and  of  these,  two  ultimately  survived.  One  was  a  type  of  crea- 
ture which  attracted  within  itself  such  elements  as  were  needed 
for  the  sustenance  of  Hfe  through  infinitely  small  apertures  or 
pores  in  its  skin,  and  the  other,  the  bolder  type,  which  drew 
within  it  by  the  same  force  of  attraction  other  entire  creatures, 
subsequently  separating  the  desired  elements  from  those  which 
were  not  required. 

The  first  type  became  the  parent  of  all  vegetables,  which 
draw  their  sustenance  in  microscopic  solution  from  earth,  water, 
air,  or  decomposed  organisms ;  and  from  the  second  type  origi- 
nated the  animal  world,  which  captures  its  food  in  the  shape  of 
other  organized  beings,  animal  or  vegetable,  and  assimilates  the 
parts  required  for  sustenance,  rejecting  the  residuum.  With  the 
first  type  we  have  no  concern  here  save  to  notice  that  it  has 
proved  to  the  advantage  of  this  class  to  remain  usually  in  a  fixed 
position,  in  the  shape  of  trees  and  seaweeds,  which  draw  nourish- 
ment from  their  surroundings,  being  content  with  very  modest 
arrangements  for  the  mobility  of  their  offspring,  in  the  shape  of 
spores  or  seeds. 

The  second  type  of  creature — the  ancestor  of  the  animal 
kingdom — preferred  the  Hfe  of  motion.  Some  indeed,  as  corals 
or  sea  anemones,  retain  the  stationary  habit,  and  many  mollusks 
attach  themselves  to  fixed  spots:  but  the  habit  of  living  upon 

V  [15] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

organic  creatures,  while  it  materially  assisted  development,  ne- 
cessitated in  most  cases  free  motion,  either  to  fresh  fields  and  new 
pastures  or  to  happier  hunting  grounds  when  the  old  ones  were 
exhausted.  And  the  development  of  the  higher  classes  of  the 
animal  kingdom  depended  entirely  upon  the  habit  of  locomotion 
adopted.  They  all  started  from  the  common  accidental  device 
of  excrescences  protruding  beyond  the  outline  of  the  body,  against 
which  floating  bodies  lodged  and  were  thence  absorbed :  but  in 
one  type  the  tendency  was  developed  to  produce  these  excres- 
cences impartially  on  all  sides  of  the  body,  thus  producing  ulti- 
mately radiate  creatures  like  starfish  and  polypi,  while  another 
type  had  the  advantage,  as  it  has  proved,  of  acquiring  the  habit  of 
annexing  its  food  'end  on,'  so  to  speak.  As  ages  passed  in- 
numerable variations  of  this  type  were  doubtless  produced,  but 
it  seems  that,  again,  two  only  survived.  One  of  these  attained 
mobility  and  safety — for  at  a  very  early  period  those  only  began 
to  survive  who  could  protect  themselves  against  the  absorptive 
faculties  of  their  neighbors — in  a  jointed  and  hardened  integu- 
ment :  while  the  other  type  had  the  joints  and  the  stiffening  in- 
side. From  the  former  type  have  descended  all  such  creatures 
as  worms,  woodlice,  lobsters,  and  insects;  and  with  these  we 
have  no  further  concern.  Our  ancestor  belonged  to  the  other 
type;  for  he  was  undoubtedly  a  person  with  his  stiffening  inside, 
else  what  should  we  be  doing  for  backbones  ?  He  still  hved  in 
the  shallows  of  the  vast  sea,  propelling  himself  through  the  water 
by  the  waggling  of  his  body;  but  as  ages  passed,  one  member  of 
the  family  acquired  the  habit  of  scrambHng  over  the  mud  by 
means  of  projections,  which  in  succeeding  generations  were  im- 
proved into  rudimentary  limbs,  stiffened  by  lateral  prolongations 
of  the  stiffening  inside.  That  is  why  our  legs  and  arms  are 
jointed  to  our  backbones.  Perhaps  the  modern  goggle-eyed 
mudfish,  which  wabbles  and  wallows  in  the  slimy  mangrove 
swamps  of  the  East,  most  nearly  reproduces  in  outHne  the  first 
great  advance  made  by  our  ancestors  after  they  had  acquired 
jointed  backbones  and  rudimentary  limbs;  and  though  the 
snakes  have  dispensed  with  limbs  altogether,  and  the  fishes  have 
modified  them  to  fins,  our  branch  of  the  family  undoubtedly 
made  the  wiser  choice  in  attaching  less  importance  to  the  w^g- 
V  [i6] 


THE   BEGINNINGS 

gling  of  their  hinder  end  as  a  means  of  progression  than  to  the 
use  of  those  lateral  processes  which  have  become  our  limbs. 
The  wisdom  of  the  choice  may  not  have  been  obvious  at  first; 
but  the  blessings  of  evolution  generally  come  in  disguise.  In- 
deed, to  the  philosopher  of  those  days,  had  there  been  one,  it 
might  even  have  seemed  that  when  at  an  earlier  stage  our  parents 
neglected  the  vegetable  habit  of  safely  planting  themselves  upon 
a  suitable  spot,  they  made  a  serious  mistake,  and  he  would  have 
pointed  to  the  striking  contrast  between  the  luxuriance  of  vegeta- 
tion compared  with  the  struggling  life  of  the  crawling  creatures 
at  its  roots.  Even  to-day,  if  it  were  merely  a  question  of  the 
difference  between  the  mangrove  tree  and  the  mudfish  which 
paddles  about  under  its  tangled  branches,  the  advantage  might 
not  to  a  casual  observer  from  another  planet  seem  to  be  all  on  the 
side  of  the  mudfish.  But  we  who  have  also  chosen  locomotion, 
and  to  that  end  have  adopted  the  system  of  backbone  and  limbs, 
know  that,  whatever  pleasures  plants  may  enjoy,  they  can  know 
little  of  the  joys  of  hunting,  fighting,  and  love-making,  the 
trinity  of  functions  w^hich  constitute  animal '  life.'  Indeed,  from 
the  animal's  point  of  view  the  majority  of  plants  might  just  as 
well  be  dead,  for  all  the  pleasure  which  they  can  have,  and  yet 
the  only  difference  between  the  earliest  animal  and  the  earhest 
plant,  children  of  a  common  parent,  was  that  they  chose  different 
methods  of  obtaining  nutriment. 

And  at  every  subsequent  parting  of  the  branches  of  the  genea- 
logical tree  of  humanity  we  can  see  how  by  chance  our  ancestors 
always  had  forced  upon  them  that  which  was  the  best  for  the 
future.  When,  for  instance,  the  members  of  our  branch  of  the 
family  began  to  crawl  about  clumsily  on  dry  land,  dragging 
heavy  tails  after  them,  how  clumsy  and  foolish  they  must  have 
appeared  in  comparison  with  their  cousins  who  retained  aquatic 
habits  and  swiftly  darted  hither  and  thither  through  the  water 
with  a  waggle  of  the  body  and  sweep  of  the  wide  taii!  Even 
when  the  burden  of  the  tail  grew  less  and  the  limbs  became  more 
prominent  and  powerful — a  transformation  which  we  may  see 
repeated  each  spring  in  the  development  of  the  frog  from  the 
tadpole — how  small  the  advantage  would  have  appeared  to  a 
philosopher  of  the  period !     Indeed,  comparing  the  types  of  frog 

V  [17] 


THE   BEGINNINGS 

and  crocodile,  it  is  more  than  likely  that  he  would  have  given  the 
preference  to  the  saurian.  But  the  highest  evolution  arises  from 
the  successful  negotiation  of  the  greatest  obstacles;  as  v^e  may 
see  in  the  superiority  of  our  hardy  Northern  races,  who  have 
always  been  compelled  to  labor  in  order  to  live,  over  the  uncivil- 
ized inhabitants  of  luxuriant  regions  where  the  problem  of  Hveli- 
hood  presents  no  difficulties.  So  long  as  monkeys  can  Hve  like 
monkeys  they  will  remain  monkeys;  but  the  hard  struggle  for 
existence  may  teach  them,  too,  as  it  has  taught  us,  to  acquire  new 
powers  in  order  to  escape  extinction,  and  then  they  will  cease  to 
be  monkeys,  though  they  will  not  be  men.  They  parted  com- 
pany from  us  at  the  last  corner  in  our  difficult  journey,  and  there 
are  no  short-cuts  to  recover  lost  ground  in  evolution.  And  we 
cannot  help  feeling  sorry  for  the  monkeys,  because  it  really  seems 
as  if  this  particular  turning  was  the  only  one  of  real  importance 
since  our  common  ancestor  elected  by  accident  to  have  his  stiffen- 
ing inside  instead  of  outside.  Between  the  eating,  fighting,  and 
love-making  of  the  crocodile,  the  eagle,  the  Hon,  or  the  whale, 
and  that  of  the  monkey,  there  does  not  seem  much  difference; 
and  what  other  joy  in  life  has  he  which  they  have  not  ?  He  has, 
in  fact,  gained  nothing  by  belonging  to  our  branch  of  the  family 
when  we  discarded  our  tails  as  means  of  locomotion;  retained 
our  four  Hmbs  for  the  purpose  of  running  on  the  ground  instead 
of  flapping  two  of  them  like  birds ;  and  learned  to  use  our  toes  for 
the  purpose  of  grasping.  The  originator  of  the  monkey  family 
may  indeed  have  considered,  if  he  thought  about  the  matter  at 
all,  that  our  ancestor  was  much  to  be  pitied  when  he  began  to 
abandon  the  use  of  his  hind  toes  in  this  way,  for  the  greater  con- 
venience of  a  flat  foot  in  running  or  walking.  And  no  doubt  the 
abandonment  was  quite  involuntary  on  our  part.  It  may  be 
that  our  ancestor  was  driven  forth  to  find  his  living  in  a  treeless 
land,  where  he  acquired  the  habit  of  running  hungrily  after  the 
prey  on  which  he  was  forced  to  subsist,  in  place  of  fruit  plucked 
without  effort  in  the  primeval  forests.  Perhaps  it  was  in  some 
such  chase  that — possibly  in  a  fit  of  anger  such  as  baulked  mon- 
keys fall  into — he  seized  his  first  missile  and  flung  it,  with  the 
happiest  effect,  at  his  escaping  dinner.  Hence  the  art  of  hunting 
and  the  use  of  weapons.  And  famiHarity  with  the  weapon  in 
V  [i8] 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

time  suggested  its  use  as  a  tool,  the  earliest  application  of  the  tool 
being  doubtless  analogous  to  carving-knife  or  hammer,  to  divide 
a  slaughtered  animal  among  the  family  or  to  smash  through  the 
hard  shell  of  turtle  or  mollusk.  Speech  was  first  evolved  by  the 
necessities  of  combination  to  guard  against  enemies:  for  an 
animal  which  had  learned  to  use  lethal  weapons,  missiles,  and 
tools  ceased  to  be  dependent  upon  either  his  personal  agiHty  or 
powerful  teeth  for  the  purposes  of  offence  and  defence.  It  was 
doubtless  by  combination  that  our  ancestors  excavated  their  cave 
fortress ;  and  from  the  necessities  of  watch  and  ward,  as  well  as 
the  constant  companionship  within,  arose  the  habit  of  speech, 
rising  from  mere  signals  to  action,  such  as  grunts  of  anger  and 
cries  of  warning,  to  notes  of  encouragement,  admonition,  ap- 
proval, and  so  on.  Thence  language  would  naturally  develop  in 
the  direction  of  expressing  domestic  needs  and  wishes :  then  com- 
munal instructions  and  words  of  command,  with  expressions  of 
assent,  dissent,  or  criticism.  Thus  by  degrees  speech  was  built 
up,  and  by  combined  labor  and  the  communication  of  ideas  man 
was  enabled  so  to  protect  and  perhaps  to  fortify  his  cave  dwelling 
that  the  species  acquired  its  characteristic  of  slow  development. 
The  young  hare,  brought  forth  in  a  tuft  of  grass,  can  see  and  run 
as  soon  as  born.  The  young  rabbit,  born  in  a  safe  burrow,  is 
blind  and  helpless  for  days.  So  cave-dweUing  man  acquired  the 
habit,  which  he  still  possesses,  of  slower  development  from  birth 
than  any  other  creature,  because  in  addition  to  the  natural  safety 
of  his  dwelling  he  had  learned  the  art  of  protecting  it,  by  com> 
bination  and  distribution  of  work,  against  all  enemies.  The 
tool  of  utility  he  learned  to  use  as  an  implement  for  the  adornment 
of  himself  and  his  belongings.  He  scratched  the  outlines  of  the 
beasts  he  had  slain  upon  the  weapon  that  slew  them ;  he  decked 
himself  and  his  mate  in  their  spoils.  His  powerful  canine  teeth 
decreased,  the  useless  hair  upon  his  body  disappeared,  the  multi- 
plying problems  of  his  many  acquired  habits  developed  his 
powers  of  thought ;  and  when  he  strode  forth  from  his  cave  and 
viewed  the  animal  and  vegetable  world  around  him,  he  felt  that 
he  was  their  king.  Looking  deeper  and  deeper,  year  by  year, 
into  the  mysteries  of  the  world  around  him,  he  has  learned  the 
*why'  of  many  things:    and  the  complement  of  the  'why'  is 

V  [r9] 


THE   BEGINNINGS 

always  the  'because.'  And  if  he  follows  in  thought  the  trail  of 
the  '  because '  as  far  back  as  his  mind  will  carry  him,  he  comes  to 
a  point  whence  he  can  dimly  discern  the  outline  of  his  first 
father,  scarcely  breaking  the  horizon  of  the  sHmy  past,  a  micro- 
scopic dab  of  mud. 


[^o] 


VI 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

ITS  CHEMICAL  CREATION  BY  SCIENCE" 

BY 

PROFESSOR  JOHN  BUTLER  BURKE 

OF    CAMBRIDGE   UNIVERSITY 


/F  the  imaging  forth  oj  man's  origin  and  development  be  a 
marvel  oj  the  infinitely  great,  we  approach  now  a  marvel 
oj  the  infinitely  minute.  Modern  science  seeks  to  create  li}e 
itself,  to  understand  it  as  a  natural,  perhaps  a  chemical,  process, 
and  to  set  in  motion  the  physical  conditions  which  produce  it — 
produce  it  through  conjunctions  and  harmonies  of  atoms,  too 
delicate,  too  evanescent  for  sight  or  for  full  comprehension.  It 
were  well  to  emphasize  this  point,  for  it  has  been  much  mis- 
understood. No  scientist  pretends  to  understand  life,  or,  in  the 
broader  sense,  to  create  it.  He  merely  imitates;  he  investigates 
the  conditions  from  the  midst  of  which  life  may  arise,  and  seeks 
to  reproduce  these  so  that  some  day  he  may  see  an  organism,  a 
being,  appear  before  him,  sprung  not  from  preceding  life-forms 
but  from  inorganic  matter. 

Perhaps  the  thing  is  impossible.  We  have  seen  that  in  Mr. 
Robinson's  address  he  could  not  forbear  a  sarcastic  fling  at  its 
absurdity.  Yet  so  patient  has  been  the  investigation,  so  fasci- 
nating are  its  aims  and  its  ideas,  that  no  man  can  afiord  to  shut 
the  question  wholly  aside  when  engaged  in  an  effort  to  under- 
stand our  day.  At  the  present  moment  the  foremost  of  the  in- 
vestigators of  this  subject  is  Mr.  John  Butler  Burke,  who  here 
briefly  explains  what  he  and  others  have  accomplished. 

The  article  is  in  a  sense  an  abridgement  oj  the  author's  recent 
elaborate  volume  upon  the  same  subject.  He  belongs  to  the 
VI  [I] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

younger  generation  oj  English  scientists,  being  not  yet  jorty. 
His  lectures  and  investigations  have,  however,  already  won  him 
jamCy  and  placed  him  high  among  intellectual  leaders. 

His  explanations  here  are  oj  necessity  technical,  jar  more 
technical  than  anything  else  that  will  appear  in  this  series,  and 
any  one  not  possessed  oj  at  least  a  jair  amount  oj  chemical  knowl- 
edge might  better  pass  over  most  oj  the  central  part  oj  the  ad- 
dress, looking  only  to  the  opening  to  see  the  basis  oj  Mr.  Barkers 
tvork,  and  then  to  the  close  to  learn  what  the  investigator  be- 
lieves as  to  the  result. 


The  Editor  offers  me  the  opportunity  to  express  my  views 
upon  the  subject  of  those  researches  which  have  recently  so 
much  attracted  the  attention  not  merely  of  the  scientific  world 
but  even  of  the  world  at  large.  Whether  these  experiments 
have  the  right  to  command  all  the  interest  they  have  evoked 
is  a  question  which  I  myself  feel  rather  diffident  to  answer. 
But  that  they  have  so  aroused  the  enthusiam  of  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  compels  me  now  to  give  utterance  to  what 
I  do  and  do  not  think  can  legitimately  be  inferred  from  the 
facts  I  have  observed;  I  feel  it  all  the  more  beholden  in 
me  to  express  my  indebtedness  for  the  exceptional  appreciation 
with  which  my  efforts  for  some  time  past  have  been  met  from 
friends,  and  from  all  quarters.  I  do  not  think  these  experi- 
ments prove  "spontaneous  generation,"  if  by  this  term  is  to 
be  understood  the  appearance  of  life  from  the  absolutely  lifeless. 
Such  a  phenomenon,  if  it  has  ever  taken  place,  and  if  it  is  even 
taking  place  around  us,  cannot,  I  fear,  be  proved  to  the  satis- 
faction of  all  parties,  and  certainly  not  to  that  of  those  who  have 
already  made  up  their  minds  not  to  accept  it.  There  may  be, 
as  they  will  again  and  again  affirm — no  matter  to  how  high 
a  temperature  we  may  get — some  secret  source  of  energy.  No 
matter  how  far  we  may  trace  the  first  beginnings  of  life,  whether 
it  is  to  the  minutest  microscopic  cells,  or  to  the  atom  itself, 
they  would  still  maintain  that  the  problem  was  not  solved,  and 
that  in  the  atom  itself  is  to  be  found  the  principle  and  the 
source  of  vital  energy,  and  if  this  could  be  carried  further  they 
VX  [  2  ] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

would  fall  back  upon  the  electron  or  even  on  the  aether.  In 
this  respect  they  cannot,  strictly  speaking,  it  is  true,  be  met 
by  any  contradiction.  But  their  argument  is  of  the  nature 
of  a  metaphysical  objection  of  the  same  kind  as  that  which 
asserts  the  freedom  of  the  will  and  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
They  admit  of  no  answer,  just  as  they  admit  of  no  proof,  unless 
that  proof  be  metaphysical,  and  unconvincing  so  far  as  its  scien- 
tific aspect  goes.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  drawn  into  a  quagmire  if 
even  in  that  quagmire  I  should  discover  what  is  true.  The 
risk  is  too  great,  and  our  time  is  too  short.  There  may  be 
charms  in  groping  in  a  bog,  or  in  getting  muddled,  but  for  my 
part  I  prefer  to  keep  out  of  it,  at  any  rate  so  far  as  my  investi- 
gations go. 

By  spontaneous  generation  I  mean  the  development  of  what 
we  have  a  right  to  think  is  living  from  that  which  we  have  hither- 
to had  a  right  to  think  was  not.  The  development  of  living  or- 
ganisms from  inorganic  matter  would  be  without  question 
quite  a  case  in  point.  No  doubt  that  inorganic  substance 
may  contain  embedded  in  it  some  germ,  or  germs,  hitherto 
unknown,  and  of  a  nature  quite  distinct  from  any  we  have  yet 
had  reason  to  regard  as  living;  the  substances  employed  may 
by  their  very  nature,  as  it  is  here  claimed — or,  more  accurately, 
suggested — have  the  principle  of  vital  process,  in  an  elementary 
form,  as  a  part  and  parcel  of  their  being.  It  is  so  with  the  dynam- 
ically unstable  substances  which  of  their  own  account  mani- 
fest radio-activity.  These  dynamically  unstable  bodies  have 
to  some  extent  some  of  the  properties  of  life — they  disinte- 
grate, they  decay,  in  their  manifestations  of  that  activity,  but 
although  this  is  merely  analogy,  and  we  must  remember,  as 
Darwin  has  well  said,  "Analogy  is  a  deceitful  guide";  still,  if 
that  analogy  has  prescribed  or  suggested  results  which  have  since 
been  verified,  its  utility  should  have  a  greater  claim  to  our 
attention  than  to  be  passed  over  with  indifference  and  ignored. 
The  products  of  radio-active  bodies  manifest  not  merely  in- 
stability and  decay  but  growth,  subdivision,  reproduction,  and 
adjustment  of  their  internal  functions  to  their  surroundings,  a 
circumstance  which  I  think  will  be  found  to  be  equivalent  to 
nutrition.  Whether  we  are  to  regard  these  products,  strictly 
VI  [3] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

speaking,  as  living  things  is  the  point  which  remains  to  be  de- 
cided. We  have  to  define  their  properties,  and  we  have  also 
to  define  life. 

Now  their  properties  are  as  simple  as  they  are  well  known, 
but  before  they  are  recapitulated  here  it  would  be  well  to  repeat 
in  outline  one  or  two  of  the  particulars  which  have  led  me  to 
take  up  the  line  of  argument  I  have  ventured  to  pursue. 

By  the  action  of  radium  upon  bouillon,  when  sterilized  so  far 
as  such  experiments  permit,  microscopic  bodies  appear,  already 
more  than  once  described.  In  the  first  instance,  they  are 
not,  as  micro-organisms  generally,  or  I  should  say  always,  are, 
more  or  less  of  the  same  size  so  long  as  they  are  of  the  same 
kind ;  ordinary  bacilli,  provided  they  are  of  the  same  type,  are 
found  to  be  also  of  the  same  dimensions.  They  do  not  show 
signs  which  indicate  that  they  have  one  and  all  sprung  in  a 
process  of  continuous  growth  from  ultra-microscopic  forms. 
But  this  is  one  of  the  characteristic  features  of  the  products  now 
produced  by  radium.  There  can  be  no  question  that  they  spring 
— that  in  each  case  they  have  sprung — from  the  invisible,  and 
grown  to  such  a  magnitude  as  to  be  seen.  We  find  no  such 
indication  with  ordinary  bacteria.  If  these  have  not  the  marks 
of  manufactured  articles,  they  afford  at  least  the  signs  of  not 
having  sprung  spontaneously  into  existence.  They  bear  the 
stamp  of  an  inheritance  of  many  varying  qualities  from  a  long 
and  probably  varying  line  of  ancestors,  of  probably  countless 
generations,  which  have  at  last  made  them  what  they  are.  But 
the  ''  radiobes  "  undergo  many  developments.  After  six  or  seven 
days,  and  at  times  even  less,  they  develop  nuclei;  but  later  still 
they  cease  to  grow,  and  then  begin  to  segregate  and  multiply. 
These  are  some  of  the  qualities  which  have  led  me  to  suppose 
that  they  are  assimilative,  and  automatic,  and  not,  strictly 
speaking,  lifeless  things. 

Their  growth  is  no  indication  of  vitality,  for  crystals  not  merely 
grow,  but  grow  to  such  dimensions  that  in  this  point  no  living 
microscopic  organism  has  any  chance  to  rival  them;  they,  how- 
ever, do  stop  growing  at  some  stage  or  another,  else  we  should 
have,  as  some  one  has  insisted,  diamonds  as  large  as  Mount 
Etna  or  the  Himalayas.  This,  however,  does  not  seem  to  be  the 
VI       .  [4] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

point;  when  crystals  reach  their  maximum  dimensions,  do  they 
then  throw  off  their  superfluous  particles  and  disintegrate  them- 
selves ?  In  other  words,  do  they  show  the  cyclic  process,  pass 
into  higher  forms,  and  then  decay,  which  is  the  test  and  the  guar- 
antee of  life?  There  are  critics  who  will  criticise  without  in 
the  least  trying  to  understand.  Some  indeed  are  merely  literary 
hacks  who  pose  before  the  world  as  judges  of  everything  and 
anything  they  can  get  the  chance  to  talk  about.  The  stoppage 
of  growth  at  a  particular  size,  and  of  reproduction  by  fission  or 
subdivision,  and  then  the  total  disintegration  of  the  cell,  or 
whatever  we  may  choose  to  call  it,  after  its  steady  regular  growth 
up  to  that  point,  is  not  merely  suggestive  of  vitality,  but  in  a 
certain  sense,  as  it  seems,  it  is  vitality  itself.  It  is  an  indication  of 
self- nutrition  and  a  very  clear  as  well  as  an  assuring  one.  The 
subdivision  or  fission  which  accompanies  the  cessation  of  devel- 
opment in  the  mechanism  of  adding  to  its  size,  shows  the  stage 
when  there  is  a  balance  between  the  accumulation  of  energy  and 
its  expenditure.  The  bodies  obtained  by  M.  Stephane  Leduc  in 
1902,  by  the  action  of  potassium  ferrocyanide  on  gelatine,  or  by 
allowing  metallic  salts  to  crystallize  in  gelatine  and  other  colloidal 
solutions,  do  not  exhibit  all  these  primary  or  elementary  proper- 
ties of  living  things ;  they  do  not,  in  fact,  manifest  more  than  a 
resemblance  in  appearance  to  the  cells  or  unit-forms  of  life. 
Their  properties  are  not  sufficient  to  justify  the  inference  that 
they  are  living  things,  nor  even  that  they  possess  to  any  marked 
extent  any  of  the  qualities  that  are  associated  with  organic 
matter  as  it  manifests  vitality.  On  the  other  hand,  it  has 
been  suggested  that  the  "radiobes"  (as  I  have  ventured  to 
designate  them),  if  they  are  crystals,  subdivide  by  cleavage 
under  the  influence  of  internal  strain,  as,  for  instance.  South 
African  diamonds  are  found  occasionally  to  do.  It  all  depends 
upon  the  nature  of  the  segregation  whether  it  is  like  a  fission 
or  a  cleavage.  Photographs  show  this  most  distinctly  as 
it  occurs  within  fourteen  days  or  so.  The  subdivision  is  clearly 
not  of  the  nature  of  a  cleavage.  Neither  is  it,  as  has  also  been 
suggested,  at  all  likely  that  these  subdivisions  resemble  those 
obtained  by  Professor  Biitschli  of  Heidelberg,  by  the  action 
on  soluble  salts  of  such  substances  as  olive  oil,  and  the  bodies 
VI  [5] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

obtained  by  emulsion  of  these  bodies  in  water  which  behave 
in  some  ways,  or  by  their  subdivisions,  much  as  if  they  were 
elementary  forms  of  living  things. 

But  here  again  it  is  upon  the  nature  of  the  subdivisions  that 
we  must  rest  our  assurance  as  to  what  these  subdivisions  mean. 
The  subdivisions  are  quite  different  from  anything  we  should 
expect  mere  surface  tension  to  effect. 

A  close  examination  of  the  mode  of  segregation  at  once  shows 
that  the ' '  cell, "  if  so  we  may  call  it,  becomes  divided  into  segments, 
much  in  the  same  way  as  ordinary  yeast  cells  are  wtII  known  to 
do.  A  sharp  corner,  which  is  not  unusual  in  the  part  so  segre- 
gated, seems  incompatible  with  the  proposed  theory  of  some 
overbalance  in  the  force  of  surface  tension  over  the  internal 
forces  which  tend  to  keep  the  body  intact.  Many  minute  bodies 
subdivide,  but  they  thus  subdivide  in  different  ways.  And  the 
manner  in  which  they  are  found  to  do  this  is  as  important,  if 
not  far  more  so,  than  the  mere  fact  that  they  do  so  actually  divide. 
Thus  it  may  again  and  again  be  urged  that  there  are  many  micro- 
scopic particles  which  are  known  to  pass  through  some  of  the 
performances  which  our  "radiobes"  also  do;  but  we  have  no 
knowledge  of  any  bodies  whicli  can  do  them  all  except  those 
bodies  which  we  know  are  living  things.  If  a  bacteriologist 
were  told  that  the  objects  of  his  observations  were  not  strictly 
living  things  because  Butschli  had  obtained  bodies  certainly 
quite  lifeless  which  could  perform  many  of  the  actions  which 
his  bacteria  do — because  Leduc  had  obtained  other  bodies 
which  possess  many  other  properties  which  his  bacterial  bodies 
have;  that  Le  Bon,  Schron,  Quincke,  Lehmann,  Ostwald, 
and  a  host  of  others  had  also  observed  minute  so-called  liquid 
and  organic  bodies,  some  of  which  are,  accurately  speaking, 
crystals — that  therefore  microbes  must  be  crystals,  he  would 
reply,  and  very  rightly  so,  that  the  argument  was  scarcely 
valid,  and  that  here,  at  least,  analogy  was  a  deceitful  guide. 
But  the  argument  would  not  be  worse  than  that  of  those  who 
would  assert  that  because  certain  things  are  not  bacteria  they 
therefore  must  be  crystals.  It  has  been  suggested  that  the 
products  of  radium  and  bouillon  are  like  the  microscopic 
crystals  described  by  those  alreadv  mentioned,  and  also  by 
VI  [6 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

Schenck  in  his  admirable  little  work  which  has  recently  been 
published.*  But  the  bodies  there  described,  some  of  which 
I  have  many  times  observed,  I  have  never  thought  of  classify- 
ing or  identifying  with  the  "plastide  particles"  in  bouillon  that 
I  have  styled  "radiobes."  The  two  are  totally  distinct.  One 
type,  the  smaller  one,  behave  like  bubbles,  or,  more  accurately, 
like  oily  drops,  possessing  no  indication  whatsoever  of  an  inter- 
nal structure  other  than  that  which  we  may  associate  with  crys- 
talline forms.  The  larger  ones  are  much  too  large,  and  show 
no  signs  of  disintegration,  but  give  the  beautiful  characteristic 
figures  of  crystals  under  the  polariscope.  Even  the  compara- 
tively small  ones  give,  to  some  extent  at  least,  some  slight  polar- 
iscope effects.  But  they  are  obviously,  to  anybody  who  has  seen 
them,  quite  different  from  those  which  are  brought  about  in  the 
culture  medium  under  the  influence  of  radium.  They  do  not 
stain — at  least  I  have  not  found  them  to  do  so — as  the  radium 
bodies  do,  and  they  do  not  manifest  any  of  the  properties  which 
have  so  attracted  our  attention  with  the  latter.  The  two — at 
least  so  far  as  I  can  judge — are  totally  distinct — as  distinct  as 
coal  is  from  potatoes. 

It  will  be  urged — in  fact  it  has  been  urged — that  these  bodies, 
if  living,  must  be  the  result  of  imperfect  sterilizations,  and  that 
the  experiments  of  Pasteur  completely  proved  that  when  sterili- 
zations are  properly  carried  out  life  does  not  spring  from  lifeless 
matter.  This  sounds  very  simple,  very  clear,  and  very  forcible. 
But  has  it  really  any  bearing  on  the  question  as  to  whether  radio- 
activity can  afford  the  internal  energy  of  vital  processes  ?  Pasteur's 
experiments  were  on  sterilized  media  not  acted  upon  by  sources 
of  activity  such  as  those  which  now  form  the  subject  of  discus- 
sion. They  have  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  with  the  question 
as  to  whether  radio-activity  can  afford  the  energy  in  dynamically 
unstable  groupings  placed  in  suitable  surroundings,  and  which 
might  afford  in  more  complex  aggregations  the  flux,  so  to  speak, 
which  constitutes  the  principle  of  life.  I  argue  now  for  possibil- 
ities, and  I  say  without  fear  or  hesitation, that,  whatever  may  be 
the  aspect  we  should  take  of  this  conception,  the  bearing  o^ 
Pasteur's  observations  on  this  point  is  as  remote  as  it  is  on  the 

*  KristalUnische  Flussigkeiten  und  Flussige  Kristalle. 
VI  [7] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

question  whether  there  are  living  bodies  in  Venus  or  in  Mars. 
It  is  a  matter  about  which  I  feel,  without  misgiving,  that  Pas- 
teur, Tyndall,  and  Huxley  would  have  thought  as  strongly  as 
myself  that  their  efforts  had  no  bearing  whatsoever  on  the 
point  at  issue. 

Having  cleared  our  minds  on  the  subject  of  these  previous 
experiments  of  thirty  years  ago,  we  may  turn  our  attention  more 
particularly  to  these  new  experiments  themselves. 

In  the  course  of  my  previous  work  on  phosphorescence  I  was 
induced  to  try  whether  the  molecular  groupings  which,  it  was 
supposed,  were  formed  during  phosphorescence,  by  exciting 
sources,  could  also  be  produced  in  other  organic  bodies,  whether 
they  become  luminous  or  not  so  long  as  they  are  similarly  acted 
upon. 

The  first  attempt  was  to  bring  about  the  condensation  or  for- 
mation of  a  complex  aggregate  round  a  nucleus,  itself  the  seat  of 
electro-magnetic  disturbances,  as  in  radio-active  particles,  that 
might  set  up  an  aggregation  of  molecules,  probably  of  an  un- 
stable kind,  in  its  vicinity. 

The  most  promising  step  to  take  appeared  to  be  to  introduce 
some  radium  salt  into  a  tube  containing  glycerine  and  then 
suddenly  to  cool  the  liquid  by  immersion  in  liquid  air.^  The 
liquid  would  thus  have  every  opportunity  of  condensing  round 
the  ions  embedded  in  the  glycerine  from  the  radium,  and  perhaps 
also  the  aggregates  contemplated  would  have  a  similar  oppor- 
tunity of  being  formed,  by  the  intense  electro-magnetic  pulses 
set  up,  or  possibly  by  some  catalytic  actions.     Crystals  of  glycer- 

1  These  experiments  were  made  at  the  Cavendish  Laboratory  in 
October,  1904,  and  were  exhibited  to  a  host  of  people  in  Cambridge 
at  the  time.  By  a  coincidence,  M.  R.  Dubois,  an  eminent  physiologist, 
shortly  afterwards  stated,  in  an  inaugural  address  at  Lyons  last  Novem- 
ber, that  he  had  observed  the  production  of  similar  bodies,  which  he 
called  vacuolides,  by  the  action  of  radium  on  certain  culture  media. 
Up  to  the  time  of  correcting  the  proofs  of  this  article  he  has  not,  so 
far  as  I  am  aware,  made  any  communication  to  any  scientific  journal 
on  the  subject.  In  abstracting  my  work  for  the  Revue  des  I  dees,  July 
15,  1905,  he  refers  to  his  speech  and  proposes  to  change  the  name  of 
his  vacuolides  to  eobes.  He  admits  they  are  the  same  as  radiobes. 
VI  [8] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

ine  were  thus  produced,  but  it  was  found  that  the  radium  was 
not  necessary,  the  low  temperature  being  sufficient  to  enable 
them  to  form.  On  being  removed  from  the  cooling  chamber 
and  allowed  to  stand  at  the  ordinary  temperature  of  the  room, 
they  rapidly  disappeared  in  about  five  minutes  or  so. 

The  experiment  was  also  made  with  gelatine.  Microscopic 
crystals  were  thus  easily  produced  by  immersion  in  liquid  air,  and 
the  outward  appearance  of  the  colloid  was  greatly  altered,  as  it 
became  intensely  opaque. 

Bouillon,  which  was  carefully  sterilized  under  pressure  at  a 
temperature  from  130°  to  140°  with  radium  for  about  thirty 
minutes  at  a  time,  was  also  tried.  It  was  found  in  this  case  that 
after  two  days  a  culture  was  growing  on  the  surface  of  the  gela- 
tine. Moreover,  on  repeating  the  experiment  it  was  observed 
that  the  culture  was  still  formed  even  when  the  tube  was  not 
frozen. 

This  was  most  remarkable,  but  the  obvious  explanation  ap- 
peared to  be  that  the  cultures  were  contaminations  and  the  re- 
sult of  imperfect  sterilization.  So  the  experiment  was  repeated 
with  controls.  The  result  was  precisely  the  same  as  before,  in 
the  tube  containing  radium,  while  the  control  tube  showed  no 
sign  whatever  of  contamination.  The  radium  was  mixed  with 
the  gelatine  medium  in  most  of  the  experiments;  in  some,  how- 
ever, it  was  contained  in  another  and  smaller  tube  close  to  the 
surface  of  the  gelatine,  or  in  a  side  tube.  In  all  the  experiments 
which  may  be  regarded  as  reliable,  actual  contact  seemed  to  be 
necessar}^,  although  at  first  it  seemed  as  though  the  a-rays  were 
sufficient.  But  in  all  such  cases  some  of  the  radium  actually 
got  to  the  gelatine  during  the  process  of  sterilization. 

In  the  earlier  experiments  the  salt  used  was  the  chloride.  It 
was  sprinkled  on  a  narrow  glass  slide  over  which  a  thin  layer  of 
gum  was  spread.  The  cultures  were  obtained  only  when  the 
edge  of  the  glass  slide  came  in  contact  with  the  gelatine. 

On  looking  up  the  matter  I  found  that  it  was  a  well-known  fact 
that  gum  acted  on  gelatine  in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce  oily 
drops.^  Controls  with  gum  alone,  however,  proved  that  the  two 
effects  were  entirely  different,  the  gum  globules  being  confined 

^  See  Article  "Gum,"  Encyclopcedia  Britannica.     9th  Edition. 
VI  [9] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

chiefly  to  the  surface,  disappearing  altogether  after  some  days, 
while  the  radium  effect  increased. 

Thus  it  seemed  quite  clear  from  these  control  experiments 
that  the  gum  was  not  the  cause  of  the  culture-like  appearances, 
while  subsequent  experiments  with  pure  radium  salt  proved  this 
beyond  doubt. 

The  next  step  was  to  get  sub-cultures  by  inoculation  in  fresh 
media.  The  sub-cultures  did  not  show  the  slightest  signs  of 
growth  for  nearly  six  weeks.  They  then,  however,  did  manifest 
a  tendency  towards  development,  but  only  to  a  very  small 
extent. 

Thus  it  is  at  once  evident  that  the  original  cultures  were  not 
bacteria. 

The  first  experiments  were  repeated  with  radium  bromide. 
About  2  J  milligrammes  of  the  salt  contained  in  a  small  glass 
tube,  one  end  of  which  was  drawn  out  to  a  fine  point,  were  intro- 
duced into  an  ordinary  test-tube  containing  bouillon.  The 
test-tube  was  plugged  with  cotton- wool  in  the  usual  way  with 
such  experiments,  and  then  sterilized  at  a  temperature  of  130° 
C.  for  about  thirty  minutes  at  a  time.  On  cooling,  as  soon  as 
the  liquid  had  coagulated,  the  fine  end  of  the  inner  tube  con- 
taining the  radium  was  broken  by  means  of  a  wire  hook  in  a  side 
tube.  The  salt  was  thus  allowed  to  drop  on  the  surface  of  the 
gelatine.  After  twenty-four  hours  signs  of  growth  were  already 
visible.  On  opening  the  tube  and  examining  the  culture  micro- 
scopically the  same  results  were  obtained  as  previously. 

Their  appearance  is  indeed  most  striking.  It  is  curious, 
however,  that  with  the  bromide  the  cultures,  although  produced 
more  rapidly,  did  not  spread  far  into  the  interior  of  the  gelatine, 
as  did  those  due  to  the  chloride. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  the  consistency  with  which  they  appear, 
and  their  form  at  each  stage  of  development,  are  not  the  least 
striking  feature  of  their  many  characteristics.  At  first  their 
appearance  is  that  of  diplococci ;  yet  it  will  be  observed  that  they 
are  not  all  of  the  same  size,  but  vary  considerably  through  a 
considerable  range  from  0.3/Jt  ^  to  mere  specks,  as  seen  in      ^V 

1  //  is  the  one-thousandth  of  a  milhmetre,  or  the  twenty-five- 
thousandth  of  an  inch. 

VI  [ 10  ] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

inch  power.  There  is  an  indication  of  growth  and  of  their  hav- 
ing originated  from  ultra-microscopic  particles. 

At  first  they  looked  like  crystals  of  carbonate  of  lime,  but 
these  are  so  very  much  larger  and  are  visible  with  much  lower 
powers.  The  latter  are  insoluble,  while  the  former  are 
soluble  in  warm  water,  so  that  the  two  cannot  be  identified. 
They  might  have  been  soluble  phosphates,  but  the  considera- 
tions which  follow  indicate  that  they  are  highly  complicated 
structures  and  more  like  organisms. 

The  polariscope  does  not  give  the  figures  and  changes  of 
color  which  arc  the  characteristic  features  of  a  crystal.  There  is, 
however,  a  left-handed  rotation  imparted  to  the  gelatine,  and 
one  which  can  easily  be  detected  when  the  culture  has  penetrat- 
ed some  distance  into  the  interior,  the  rotation  amounting  to 
several  degrees  in  a  centimetre  thickness.  Thus  they  appear 
to  be  more  of  the  nature  of  colloided  bodies,  but  like  bacteria 
with  an  asymmetric  structure. 

The  very  minute  quantity  which  could  be  experimented 
with  rendered  it  extremely  difficult  to  investigate  their  chemical 
composition;  but  the  method  of  prolonged  observation,  like 
the  astronomical  method  in  matters  over  which  we  have  no  con- 
trol, enables  us  to  study  their  structure  and  behavior,  and  to 
decide  the  question  as  to  whether  they  are  crystalline  or  or- 
ganized and  living  forms. 

Upon  this  point,  however,  it  is  necessary  that  the  use  of 
the  word  "crystal"  should  stand  for  some  definite  thing.  By 
a  crystal  I  mean  an  aggregate  of  symmetrically  arranged  groups 
of  molecules.  Such  aggregates  are  known  to  grow  by  piling 
up,  as  it  were,  one  on  to  another.  They  grow  by  accretion,  not 
by  assimilation,  from  their  environment.  Sachs  ^  regarded 
protoplasm  as  made  up  of  minute  crystals,  but  that  seems 

^  Physiology  of  Plants,  p.  206.  His  view  that  protoplasm  is  an 
organized  substance  consisting  of  crystalline,  doubly  refracting 
molecules  (Micellae)  is  now  generally  accepted.  In  the  moist  state 
each  of  these  (Micellae)  is  surrounded  with  an  envelope  of  water  in 
consequence  of  its  powerful  attraction.  In  their  dry  state  they  are 
in  mutual  contact.  This  theory  of  the  internal  structure  of  organized 
bodies  was  founded  by  Naegeli. 

VI  [11] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFP: 

perhaps  to  be  using  the  word  in  a  somewhat  elastic  sense,  if 
protoplasm,  a  colloid  substance,  were  to  be  included  amongst 
crystalline  bodies. 

If  colloidal  bodies  are  aggregates  of  minute  crystals,  they  are, 
however,  not  symmetrically  arranged  crystals,  and  the  aggregate 
is  not  isomorphous  with  the  constituent  crystals,  but  on  the 
whole  amorphous. 

An  organism  has  a  structure,  a  nucleus,  and  an  external 
boundary  or  cell-wall,  and  its  vitality  may  be  described  as 
being  a  continuous  process  of  adjustment  between  its  internal 
and  its  external  relations. 

Now  a  clear  examination  of  the  bodies  produced  by  the 
action  of  radium  on  culture  media  will  enable  us  to  decide 
under  which  of  these  two  heads  these  bodies  come. 

The  earlier  stage  does  not  reveal  any  structure,  but  later  on 
the  existence  of  a  nucleus  of  a  highly  organized  body  is  dis- 
tinctly shown;  whilst  after  a  while  the  segregation  effects  of 
growth  and  development,  which  it  would  appear  rule  crystals 
out  of  court,  become  distinctly  marked.  In  such  large  bodies 
a  satellite  or  offspring  is  usually  visible  and  is  suggestive  of 
reproduction. 

This  subdivision  is  the  most  striking  thing  about  them, 
and  a  clear  idea  of  its  actual  nature  cannot  fully  be  derived 
from  the  photographs.  When  the  body  exceeds  3;^  there  is 
a  tendency  for  it  to  divide  up,  and  each  part  to  lead  a  separate 
existence. 

The  growth  is  from  the  minutest  visible  speck  to  two  dots, 
then  a  dumb-bell  shaped  appearance,  later  more  like  frog's 
spawn,  and  so  on  through  various  stages  until  it  reaches  a 
shape  largely  different  from  its  previous  forms,  when  it  divides 
and  loses  its  individuality,  and  ultimately  becomes  resolved 
into  minute  crystals,  possibly  of  uric  acid.  This  is  a  develop- 
ment which  no  crystal  has  yet  been  known  to  make,  and  forces 
upon  the  mind  the  idea  that  they  must  be  organisms;  the  fact, 
however,  that  they  are  soluble  in  water  seems,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  disprove  the  suggestion  that  they  can  be  bacteria.  But  the 
stoppage  of  growth  and  the  subdivision  at  a  certain  stage  of 
development  in  such  circumstances  as  these  is  a  clear  indi- 
VI  [12] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

cation  of  the  continuous  adjustment  of  internal  to  external  re- 
lations of  the  individual  with  its  surroundings,  and  thus  sug- 
gests vitality. 

The  continuity  of  structure,  assimilation,  and  growth,  and 
then  subdivision,  together  with  the  nucleated  structure  as 
shown  in  a  few  of  the  best  specimens,  suggests  that  they  are  en- 
titled to  he  classed  among  living  things,  in  the  sense  in  which 
we  use  the  words,  whether  we  call  them  bacteria  or  not. 

As  they  do  not  possess  all  the  properties  of  bacteria,  they  are 
not  what  are  understood  by  this  name,  and  are  obviously  alto- 
gether outside  the  beaten  track  of  living  things.  This,  however, 
will  not  prevent  such  bodies  from  coming  under  the  realm  of 
biology,  and,  in  fact,  they  appear  to  possess  many  of  the  qualities 
and  properties  which  enable  them  to  be  placed  in  the  borderland 
between  crystals  and  bacteria,  organisms  in  the  sense  in  which 
we  have  employed  the  word,  and  possibly  the  missing  Unk  be- 
tween the  animate  and  inanimate.  May  it  not  also  be  the 
germ  which,  after  countless  generations,  under  gradually  chang- 
ing forms  and  in  suitable  environments,  has  at  length  evolved 
into  a  bacillus  at  which  we  gaze  and  gaze  with  hopeless  won- 
der and  amazement,  each  time  we  view  it  in  the  microscope 
to-day  ? 

In  their  properties  they  are  so  like  bacteria  and  yet  not  of 
them,  nor  of  crystals,  from  both  of  which  they  differ  widely, 
that  they  may  with  advantage,  as  we  have  said,  be  called 
Radiobes,  a  name  at  once  suggestive  both  of  their  nature  and 
their  origin. 

Thus  the  gap,  apparently  insuperable,  between  the  organic  and 
the  inorganic  world  seems,  however  roughly,  to  be  bridged  over 
by  the  presence  of  these  radio-organic  organisms  which  at  least 
may  give  a  clew  as  to  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  life,  "that 
vital  putrefaction  of  the  dust,"  to  which  Dr.Saleebyhas  recently 
drawn  attention. 

Rainey  obtained  many  curious  results  with  salts  of  lime,  but 
some  of  his  observations  may  have  been  due  to  microbes,  as  in 
those  days  sufficient  attention  was  not  paid  to  the  process  of 
sterilization,  while  crystals  of  lime  would  be  insoluble  in  water. 

Schenck's  crystals,  however,  can  be  examined  in  the  polari- 
VI  [  13  ] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

scope,  and  do  not  segregate  and  reproduce  as  the  bodies  we  are 
dealing  with  invariably  have  been  found  to  do. 

May  it  not  be  that,  among  those  unknown  processes 
which,  as  Huxley  expected,  worked  in  the  "remote  prodigious 
vista  of  the  past,"  where  he  could  find  no  record  of  the  com- 
mencement of  life,  the  process  now  considered  almost  a  univer- 
sal one,  of  radio-activity,  performed  those  reactions,  that  we 
now  see  taking  place  in  gelatine  cultures,  slowly  and  yet  spon- 
taneously by  virtue  of  even  slightly  radio-active  bodies  ? 

The  earth  itself,  which  is  slightly  radio-active,  should  act 
likewise,  and  the  substances  required  are  the  ingredients  for  the 
formation  of  radio-organisms. 

The  only  process  taking  place  in  matter  which  has  since  then 
revealed  a  hidden  source  of  energy,  not  destroyed  by  heat,  is 
radio-activity. 

Whether  the  lowliest  forms  of  life— so  simple  that  the  sim- 
plest amoeba  as  we  see  it  to-day  would  appear  a  highly  complex 
form— whether  such  elementary  types  have  arisen  from  inorganic 
matter  by  such  processes  as  I  have  described,  I  know  not. 
May  it  not  be,  however,  and  does  it  not  seem  probable,  in  the 
light  of  these  experiments,  that  the  recently  discovered  processes 
of  instability  and  decay  of  inorganic  matter,  resulting  from  the 
unexpected  source  of  energy  which  gives  rise  to  them,  are 
analogous  in  many  ways  to  the  very  inappropriately  called 
''vital  force"  or  really  vital  energy  of  living  mater?  For  this 
idea  such  physiologists  as  Johannes  Miillcr  so  devoutly  pleaded 
more  than  half  a  century  ago.  And  may  they  not  also  be  the 
source  of  life  upon  this  planet  ? 

Cannot  this  instability  and  decay  of  inorganic  matter  of 
atoms  of  highly  complex  structure,  in  suitable  environments, 
be  the  seat  of  disturbances,  of  fermentations,  and  of  metabo- 
lisms ?  The  building  up  and  breaking  down  through  catalytic 
actions  of  great  complex  aggregates,  not  merely  of  stable  crystal- 
line forms,  but  of  unstable  dynamical  aggregations,  imparted 
by  the  unstable  atom  of  a  radio-active  substance  to  the  agglom- 
erated mass? 

The  results  of  these  investigations  of  which  I  have  given  an 
account,  although  not  affording  an  answer  to  this  question,  by 
VI  [14] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

giving  rise  to  organisms  such  as  bacteria  (for  it  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that  these  are  the  descendants  of  countless  generations, 
under  gradually  varying  conditions),  still  afford  beyond  doubt 
organic  forms  of  matter,  as  appears  from  their  structure  and 
behavior,  even  if  they  are  not  crystals  or  bacteria  of  the  types 
already  known,  and  place  also  at  our  disposal  a  method  of 
structural  organic  synthesis,  of  which  the  chemist,  perhaps,  has 
not  hitherto  made  use  with  effect. 

When  working  some  time  ago  at  the  phosphorescent  glow  in 
gases,  I  was  led  from  various  considerations  to  infer  that  the 
luminosity  was  the  result  of  great  complex  molecular  agglom- 
erations produced  by  the  spark.  The  duration  of  the  life- 
period,  if  I  might  so  call  it,  of  those  molecular  groups  is  greatly 
increased  by  letting  them  diffuse  into  another  tube  through 
which  the  spark  had  not  previously  been  sent.^ 

The  effect  of  glycerine  and  gelatine  on  phosphorescent 
liquids  is  also  known  to  increase  the  duration  of  the  luminosity, 
and  this  is  probably  due  to  diminution  of  the  number  of  colli- 
sions. I  thus  endeavored  to  observe  the  effect  upon  the  phosphor- 
escent molecules  by  introducing  glycerine  or  gelatine  into  a 
vacuum  tube,  immediately  after  sending  a  discharge  ot  elec- 
tricity through  it,  while  the  phosphorescent  glow  lasted. 

If  the  glycerine  or  gelatine  on  being  introduced  is  shaken 
inside  the  tube,  some  of  the  phosphorescent  molecules  would 
be  caught  by  the  liquid,  which  in  turn  should  become  phos- 
phorescent. The  cyanogen  molecules,  it  was  thought,  would 
do  this  particularly  on  account  of  their  persistent  nature  after 
the  passage  of  the  discharge.  Bouillon,^  which  had  been  steri- 
lized with  the  tube  itself  before  being  introduced,  w^as  also 
among  the  substances  employed.  The  vapor,  however,  from 
these  substances  when  in  the  liquid  state  was  enough  to  prevent 
the  phosphorescent  molecules  which  could  exist  at  low  pressure 
from  persisting,  and  thus  the  experiments  for  the  time  were 
dropped. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  complex  molecules  of  para-cyano- 

^  Philosophical  Magazine,  March,  1901. 

2  In  this  particular  case  it  was  the  substance  used  for  cultivating 
photogenic  micro-cocci. 

VI  [ 15  ] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

gen,  unstable,  but  at  the  same  time  persistent  and  yielding 
a  vast  store  of  energy  in  their  disintegration,  might  act  as  nuclei 
which  would  in  suitable  media  set  up  catalytic  activity,  and 
thus  act  as  a  means  of  synthesizing  complex  organic  com- 
pounds, a  method  not  hitherto  employed.  It  was  for  this  reason 
that  bouillon,  of  the  composition  used  in  the  experiments  with 
radium,  was  employed,  since  it  contained  all  the  constituents 
of  protoplasm,  and  it  seemed  at  the  time  quite  possible,  not 
to  say  probable,  that  the  physical  properties  of  the  cyanogen 
molecule,  as  well  as  its  chemical  properties,  justified  the  very 
shrewd  conception  of  Pfliiger,  that  the  molecule  of  cyanogen 
is  a  semi-living  thing. 

The  fundamental  difference  between  living  proteid  as  it 
constitutes  living  substance,  and  dead  proteid  as  it  occurs  in 
egg-albumen,  is  in  the  self-decomposition  of  the  former  and 
the  stable  constitution  of  the  latter. 

Verworn  says:  "The  starting-point  for  further  considera- 
tion is  afforded  by  the  fact  that  of  the  heterogeneous  decompo- 
sition products  of  living  proteid  such  as  uric  acid,  creatin,  and, 
moreover,  the  nuclein  bases,  guanin,  xanthin,  hypoxanthin, 
and  adenin,  a  part  contains  cyanogen  as  a  radical,  and  a  part 
like  urea,  the  most  important  of  all  the  decomposition  products 
of  living  proteid,  can  be  produced  artificially  from  cyanogen 
compounds  by  a  rearrangement  of  the  atoms."  ''This  points 
strongly,"  he  thinks,  "to  the  probability  that  living  proteid 
contains  the  radical  cyanogen,  and  thus  differs  fundamentally 
from  dead  or  food  proteid."  Thus, according  to  Pfluger,  "in 
the  formation  of  cell  substance,  i.e.,  of  living  proteid  out  of 
food  proteid,  a  change  in  the  latter  takes  place,  the  atoms  of 
nitrogen  going  into  a  cyanogen-like  relation  with  the  atoms 
of  carbon,  probably  with  the  absorption  of  a  considerable 
amount  of  heat."  Cyanogen  is  a  radical  which  contains  a 
vast  amount  of  energy,  and,  although  not  to  be  compared  with 
that  of  radium  compounds,  its  potential  store  is  nevertheless  very 
great,  as  appears  from  thermal  investigations.  Again,  "the 
idea  that  it  is  the  cyanogen  especially  that  confers  upon  the  living 
proteid  molecule  its  characteristic  properties  is  supported  es- 
pecially by  many  analogies  that  exist  between  living  proteid  and 
VI  [  i6  ]         . 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

the  compounds  of  cyanogen.  Thus  a  product  of  the  oxidation 
of  cyanogen,  cyanic  acid,  H.C.N.O.,  possesses  great  similarity 
to  hving  protcid.  Pfliigcr  calls  attention  to  the  following 
interesting  points  of  comparison:  (i)  Both  bodies  grow  by 
polymerization  by  chemically  combining  similar  molecules, 
like  chains,  into  masses;  the  growth  of  living  substance  takes 
place  thus,  and  in  this  way  also  the  polymeric  HnCnN^On 
comes  from  cyanic  acid,  H.C.N.O.  (2)  Further,  both  bodies 
in  the  presence  of  water  are  spontaneously  decomposed  into 
carbonic  acid  and  ammonia.  (3)  Both  afford  urea  by  disso- 
ciation, i.e.^  by  intramolecular  rearrangement,  not  by  direct 
oxidation.  (4)  Finally,  both  are  liquid  and  transparent  at 
low  temperatures  and  coagulate  at  higher  ones;  cyanic  acid 
earlier,  living  proteid  later."  "Their  similarity,"  says  Pfliiger, 
"  is  so  great  that  I  might  term  cyanic  acid  a  half-living  molecule." 

Pfliiger's  analyses  have  not  met,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  with 
widespread  recognition.  Further  experimental  confirmation 
is  doubtless  necessary  before  they  can  be  ranked  as  theory. 

The  dynamical  nature  of  the  cyanogen  molecule,  however, 
together  with  the  large  store  of  potential  energy  it  contains,  con- 
stitutes the  resemblance  between  it  and  radium  compounds, 
but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  internal  energy  thus 
manifested  by  the  molecular  disintegration  is  of  an  entirely 
different  order  of  magnitude.  Nevertheless,  there  is  a  sufficient 
resemblance  between  the  two  to  utilize  each  for  the  purpose 
of  the  experiments  we  have  in  view.  Then  the  molecule  of 
either  might  act  as  a  nucleus  which  should  by  catalysis,  or 
some  other  means,  set  up  dynamically  unstable  groups,  which, 
though  not  living  in  the  sense  that  they  possessed  the  n  qualities 
of  living  proteid,  may,  by  possessing  (w-i)  of  those  qualities, 
be  regarded  as  a  mode  of  life  in  the  sense  in  which  many  philoso- 
phers have  used  the  word.  If  cyanogen  is  a  half -living  thing, 
as  Pfliiger  supposed  for  the  reason  we  have  given,  it  is  only 
natural  to  try  if  it  would  form  growths  in  culture  media,  and 
the  use  of  bouillon  in  my  experiments  was  merely  the  logical 
outcome  of  this  conception. 

It  seems  quite  beyond  hope  that  even  if  we  had  the  materials 
and  conditions  for  producing  life  in  the  laboratory  we  should  be 
VI  [  17  ] 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LIFE 

able  to  produce  forms  of  life  as  developed  as  even  the  simplest 
amoeba,  for  the  one  reason,  if  for  no  other,  that  these  are  the 
descendants  of  almost  an  indefinite  series  of  ancestors.  But  it  is 
not  beyond  hope  to  produce  others,  more  elementary  ones,  arti- 
ficially; and  the  micro-organisms — I  think  I  am  justified  in 
calling  them  such — which  form  the  subject  of  this  article,  al- 
though not  bacteria,  still  may  be  looked  upon  as  approximating 
to  these  more  closely,  and  certainly  regarded  as  higher  in  the 
scale  of  being  than  any  forms  of  crystalline  or  colloid  bodies 
hitherto  observed. 


VI  [i8] 


VII 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"THE  MORALITY  OF  NATURE" 

BY 

PRINCE   KROPOTKTN 


TN  our  own  day,  the  old  distinction  between  scientist  and 
"*  philosopher  bids  jair  to  become  extinct.  Time  was  when 
the  scientist  confined  himself  to  exact  experiment  and  the  discovery 
of  the  physical  laws  which  underlay  his  results,  while  the  philoso- 
pher took  the  universe  for  his  province  and  speculated  upon  its 
meaning.  Now,  however,  each  invades  the  other^s  realm;  the 
scientist  theorizes  on  origin  and  cause;  the  philosopher  adopts 
scientific  methods.  Somewhere  in  the  borderland  between  the  two, 
lies  the  following  address.  It  attempts  to  discover  the  origin  of 
society,  the  explanation  of  altruism,  the  reason  why  a  man  is  in- 
sufficient for  himself  and  desires  the  company  of  others,  feels  both 
the  joy  and  suffering  of  others  in  addition  to  his  own. 

Here  again  it  is  obvious  that  we  do  but  strive  to  push  a  little 
further  from  us  the  mystery  of  our  being.  Even  were  the  search  of 
science  successful,  so  that  she  could  set  her  finger  on  a  point  and 
date,  and  say,  here  began  the  social  instinct  in  man,  from  this  it  has 
developed — even  then  the  marvel  would  stand  as  it  stands  now,  not 
in  the  method  of  development,  but  in  the  fact  that  this  social  in- 
stinct exists,  that  it  has  been  created. 

Nevertheless,  it  may  be  well  to  caution  our  readers  that  in  this 
interweaving  of  science  and  philosophy,  the  scientist  is  apt  to  carry 
through  his  philosophic  excursions  the  forms  of  expression,  the 
positiveness  of  assertion,  which  belong  properly  to  his  experi- 
mental work.  Hence  when,  in  one  of  the  few  essays  our  series 
gives  of  necessity  to  science,  the  writer  states  a  fact  of  the  present 
vn  [  I  ] 


THE   BIRTH   OF   CONSCIENCE 

time,  which  he  has  seen  or  tried,  we  may  accept  him  jully;  but 
when  from  this  fact  he  infers  something  that  occurred  ceons  ago,  we 
must  grow  cautious.  For  each  positive  "i^"  it  were  wise  to  sub- 
stitute the  more  modest  "'seems,''''  for  " proves ^^  let  us  read  "sug- 
gests,''^ or  at  the  most  "makes  probable.''^  Scientists  themselves 
would  be  the  readiest  to  approve  this  caution.  True  science  has  no 
more  deadly  enemy  than  over-sureness.  The  possibility  oj  lurking 
error,  or  oj  new  and  unknown  causes  working  to  confuse  results,  is 
ever  in  the  seekefs  mind. 

In  the  present  address  Darwinism,  already  introduced  to  the 
reader,  presents  its  most  recent  thoughts,  and  presents  them  in  the 
words  oj  one  oj  its  most  noted  exponents.  Prince  Kropotkin  is  the 
most  widely  known  oj  Russian  scientists.  He  is  also  a  leader  in 
the  discussion  oj  social  problems.  To  Americans  his  career  may 
be  less  jamiliar  than  it  is  in  Europe.  Born  oj  a  vice-regal  jamily 
in  Russia,  he  was  educated  among  the  pages  oj  the  imperial  court; 
hut  a  more  vigorous  lije  attracted  him,  and  he  became  an  explorer 
and  geographer  amid  the  wilds  oj  Siberia.  Later  he  took  part  in 
the  Russian  revolutionary  movement,  and  joined  the  International 
Working  Men's  Association  (1872).  He  was  imprisoned  and 
escaped,  to  become  an  anarchistic  leader  throughout  Europe.  As 
such,  he  was  expelled  jrom  Switzerland.  Even  in  republican 
France  he  was  held  three  years  in  prison;  and  it  was  not  till  1886 
that  he  settled  to  the  more  quiet  existence  oj  a  litterateur  and  scientist. 
In  I  goo  he  published  his  "  Memoirs  oj  a  Revolutionist,^^  which  has 
been  translated  into  en)ery  leading  language;  and  in  igo2  he  pub- 
lished his  important  treatise  on  "Mutual  Aid  in  Evolution y"*  to 
which  he  makes  jrequent  rejerence  below. 


The  work  of  Darwin  was  not  limited  to  biology  only.* 
Already  in  1837,  when  he  had  just  written  a  rough  outhne  of  his 
theory  of  the  origin  of  species,  he  entered  in  his  note-book  this 
significant  remark:  *My  theory  will  lead  to  a  new  philosophy.' 

1  In  his  History  of  Modern  Philosophy  the  Danish  professor,  Harald 
Hoffding,  gives  an  admirable  sketch  of  the  philosophical  importance  of 
Darwin's  work.  Geschichtc  der  ncuercn  Philosophie,  German  transla- 
tion by  F.  Bendixen  (Leipsic,  1896),  Vol.  II.,  p,  487  ct  seq. 

vn  [2] 


THE   BIRTH   OF   CONSCIENCE 

And  so  it  did  in  reality.  The  application  which  he  made  of  the 
idea  of  evolution  to  the  whole  of  organic  life  marked  a  new  era  in 
philosophy;  and  it  led  him  later  on  to  write  a  sketch  of  the  de- 
velopment of  the  moral  sense,  which  opened  a  new  page  in  ethics. 
In  this  sketch  so  much  was  done  to  throw  a  new  light  upon  the 
true  and  efficient  cause  of  the  moral  feelings,  and  place  the  whole 
of  ethics  on  a  scientific  basis,  that  although  Darwin's  leading 
ideas  may  be  considered  as  a  further  development  of  those  of 
Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson,  his  work  represents,  nevertheless,  a 
new  departure,  on  the  lines  faintly  indicated  by  Bacon.  It 
secured,  therefore,  for  its  author  a  place  by  the  side  of  the  other 
founders  of  ethical  schools,  such  as  Hume,  Hobbes,  or  Kant. 

The  leading  ideas  of  Darwin's  ethics  may  easily  be  summed 
up.  In  the  very  first  sentences  of  his  essay  he  states  his  object  in 
quite  definite  terms.  He  begins  with  a  praise  of  the  sense  of 
duty,  which  he  characterizes  in  the  well-known  poetical  words  of 
Kant :  '  Duty!  Wondrous  thought  that  workest  neither  by  fond 
insinuation,  flattery,  nor  by  any  threat,  .  .  .'  etc.  And  he 
undertakes  to  explain  this  sense  of  duty,  or  moral  conscience, 
*  exclusively  from  the  side  of  natural  history ' — an  explanation, 
he  adds,  which  no  English  writer  had  hitherto  attempted  to  give.* 
That  the  moral  sense  should  be  acquired  by  each  individual 
separately,  during  its  lifetime,  he  naturally  considers  'at  least 
extremely  improbable  on  the  general  theory  of  evolution';  and 
he  derives  this  sense  from  the  social  feelings  which  are  instinctive 
or  innate  in  the  lower  animals,  and  probably  in  man  as  well. 
The  origin  and  the  very  foundation  of  all  moral  feelings  Darwin 
sees  '  in  the  social  instincts  which  lead  the  animal  to  take  pleasure 
in  the  society  of  its  fellows,  to  feel  a  certain  amount  of  sympathy 
with  them,  and  to  perform  various  services  for  them ' ;  sympathy 
being  understood  here  in  its  proper  sense — not  as  a  feeling  of 
commiseration  or  love,  but  as  a  ' f ellow-f eehng '  or  'mutual  sensi- 
bility ' ;  the  fact  of  being  influenced  by  another's  feelings. 

This  being  Darwin's  first  proposition,  his  second  is  that  as 
soon  as  the  mental  faculties  of  a  species  become  highly  developed 
as  they  are  in  man,  the  social  instinct  will  necessarily  lead,  as 
every  other  unsatisfied  instinct  does,  to  a  sense  of  dissatisfaction, 

1  The  Descent  of  Man,  chap.  IV. 

vii  [  3  ] 


THE   BIRTH   OF  CONSCIENCE 

or  even  misery,  as  often  as  the  individual,  reasoning  about  its  past 
actions,  sees  that  in  some  of  them  'the  enduring  and  always 
present  social  instinct  had  yielded  to  some  other  instinct,  at  the 
time  stronger,  but  neither  enduring  nor  leaving  behind  it  a  very 
vivid  impression.'  For  Darv^in  the  moral  sense  is  thus  not  the 
mysterious  gift  of  unknown  origin  which  it  was  for  Kant.  '  Any 
animal  whatever,'  he  says,  'endowed  with  well-marked  social 
instincts,  the  parental  and  fiHal  affections  being  here  included, 
would  inevitably  acquire  a  moral  sense,  or  conscience  [Kant's 
"knowledge  of  duty"],  as  soon  as  its  intellectual  powers  had 
become  as  well,  or  nearly  as  well,  developed  as  in  man. 

To  these  two  fundamental  propositions  Darwin  adds  two 
secondary  ones.  After  the  power  of  language  had  been  acquired, 
and  the  wishes  of  the  community  could  be  expressed,  '  the  com- 
mon opinion  how  each  member  ought  to  act  for  the  public  good 
would  naturally  become,  in  a  paramount  degree,  the  guide  of 
action.'  However,  the  effect  of  public  approbation  and  dis- 
approbation depends  entirely  upon  the  development  of  mutual 
sympathy.  It  is  because  we  feel  in  sympathy  with  others  that 
we  appreciate  their  opinions;  and  public  opinion  acts  in  a 
moral  direction  only  where  the  social  instinct  is  sufficiently 
strongly  developed.  This  is  evidently  an  important  remark, 
because  it  refutes  those  theories  of  Mandeville  and  his  more  or 
less  outspoken  eighteenth-century  followers,  which  represented 
morality  as  nothing  but  a  set  of  conventional  manners.  Finally, 
Darwin  mentions  habit  as  a  potent  factor  for  framing  our  con- 
duct. It  strengthens  the  social  instinct  and  mutual  sympathy, 
as  also  obedience  to  the  judgment  of  the  community. 

Having  thus  stated  the  substance  of  his  views  in  four  definite 
propositions,  Darwin  gives  them  some  further  developments. 
He  examines,  first,  sociability  in  animals,  their  love  of  society, 
and  the  misery  which  every  one  of  them  feels  if  it  is  left  alone ; 
their  continual  intercourse ;  their  mutual  warnings,  and  the  ser- 
vices they  render  each  other  in  hunting  and  for  self-defence. 
*  It  is  certain,'  he  says, '  that  associated  animals  have  a  feeling  of 
love  for  each  other  which  is  not  felt  by  non-social  adult  animals.' 
They  may  not  much  sympathize  with  each  other's  pleasures,  but 
cases  of  sympathy  with  each  other's  distress  or  danger  are  quite 
VII  [  4  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

common,  and  Darwin  quotes  a  few  of  the  most  striking  instances. 
Some  of  them,  such  as  Saintsbury's  bUnd  pelican  or  the  bhnd  rat, 
both  of  which  were  fed  by  their  congeners,  have  become  classical 
by  this  time,  while  several  similar  illustrations  have  been  added 
since.  'Moreover,  beside  love  and  sympathy,'  Darwin  con- 
tinues, 'animals  exhibit  other  qualities  connected  with  social 
instincts  which  in  us  would  be  called  moral,'  and  he  gives  a  few 
examples  of  moral  self-restraint  in  dogs  and  elephants.  Alto- 
gether, it  is  evident  that  every  action  in  common — and  with  cer- 
tain animals  it  is  quite  habitual — requires  some  restraint  of  the 
same  sort.  However,  it  must  be  said  that  Darwin  did  not  treat 
the  subject  of  sociabiHty  in  animals  and  their  incipient  moral 
feelings  with  all  the  developments  which  it  deserved,  in  view  of 
the  central  position  which  it  occupies  in  his  theory  of  morality. 

Considering  next  human  morahty,  Darwin  remarks  that 
although  man,  such  as  he  now  exists,  has  but  few  special  in- 
stincts, he  nevertheless  is  a  sociable  being  who  must  have  re- 
tained from  an  extremely  remote  period  some  degree  of  instinc- 
tive love  and  sympathy  for  his  fellows.  These  f eehngs  act  as  an 
impulsive  instinct,  which  is  assisted  by  reason,  experience,  and 
the  desire  of  approbation.  'Thus  the  social  instincts,  which 
must  have  been  acquired  by  man  in  a  very  rude  state,  and  prob- 
ably even  by  his  ape-like  progenitors,  still  give  the  impulse  for 
some  of  his  best  actions.'  The  remainder  is  the  result  of  a 
steadily  growing  intelligence  and  collective  education. 

It  is  evident  that  these  views  are  correct  only  if  we  are  ready 
to  recognize  that  the  intellectual  faculties  of  animals  differ  from 
those  of  man  in  degree,  but  not  in  their  essence.  But  this  is  ad- 
mitted now  by  most  students  of  comparative  psychology;  and 
the  attempts  which  have  been  made  lately  to  estabhsh  '  a  gulf ' 
between  the  instincts  and  the  intellectual  faculties  of  man 
and  those   of  animals  have  not   attained  their  end.^     How- 

1  The  incapacity  of  an  ant,  a  dog,  or  a  cat  to  make  a  discovery,  or  to 
hit  upon  the  correct  solution  of  a  difficulty,  is  not  proof  of  an  essential 
difference  between  the  intelHgence  of  man  and  that  of  these  animals, 
because  the  same  want  of  inventiveness  is  continually  met  with  in  men 
as  well.  Like  the  ant  in  one  of  Lubbock's  experiments,  thousands  of 
men  who  had  not  been  already  familiar  with  bridges  would  spend  their 
forces  in  the  effort  of  crossing  a  brook  or  a  ravine,  before  they  would 
try  to  bridge  it.     And,  on  the  other  hand,  the  collective  intelligence  of 

vn  [  5  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

ever,  it  docs  not  follow  from  this  resemblance  that  the  moral 
instincts  developed  in  different  species,  and  the  less  so  in 
species  belonging  to  two  different  classes  of  animals,  should 
be  identical.  If  we  compare  insects  with  mammals,  we 
must  never  forget  that  the  lines  of  their  development  have 
diverged  at  a  very  early  period  of  animal  evolution.  The 
consequence  was  that  a  deep  physiological  differentiation  be- 
tween separate  portions  of  the  same  species  took  place  with  the 
ants,  the  bees,  the  wasps,  etc.,  corresponding  to  a  permanent 
physiological  division  of  labor  between  their  females,  their  males, 
and  their  workers — a  division  of  which  there  is  no  trace  among 
mammals.  Therefore  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  ask  men  to 
judge  of  the  morahty  of  the  worker-  bees  when  they  kill  the  males 
in  their  hive;  and  this  is  why  the  illustration  of  Darwin  to  this 
effect  met  with  so  much  hostile  criticism.  And  yet  the  moral 
conceptions  of  man  and  the  actions  of  insects  have  so  much  in 
common  that  the  greatest  ethical  teachers  of  mankind  did  not 
hesitate  to  recommend  certain  features  of  the  ants  and  the  bees 
for  imitation  by  man.  Their  devotion  to  the  group  is  certainly 
not  surpassed  by  ours ;  and,  on  the  other  hand — to  say  nothing 
of  our  race  wars,  or  of  the  occasional  exterminations  of  religious 
dissidents  and  pohtical  adversaries — the  human  code  of  morahty 
has  undergone  such  variations  in  the  course  of  time  as  to  pass 
from  the  exposure  of  children  by  savages  in  years  of  scarcity,  and 
the  '  wound-f or- wound  and  hfe-for-hfe'  principle  of  the  Deca- 
logue, to  the  profound  respect  of  everything  that  Hves  preached 
by  Bodisatta  and  the  pardon  of  offences  practised  by  the  early 
Christians.  We  are  thus  bound  to  conclude  that  while  the  dif- 
ferences between  the  morahty  of  the  bee  and  that  of  man  are  due 
to  a  deep  physiological  divergence,  the  striking  similarities  be- 
tween the  two  point,  nevertheless,  to  a  community  of  origin. 

The  social  instinct  is  thus,  in  Darwin's  opinion,  the  common 
stock,  out  of  which  all  morahty  originates;    and  he  further 

an  ant's  nest  or  a  beehive — one  individual  in  the  thousand  hitting  upon 
the  correct  solution,  and  the  others  imitating  it — solves  difficulties 
much  greater  than  those  upon  which  the  individual  ant,  or  bee,  or  cat 
has  so  ludicrously  failed.  The  bees  at  the  Paris  Exhibition,  and  their 
devices  to  preverit  being  disturbed  in  their  work,  or  any  one  of  the  well- 
known  facts  of  inventiveness  among  the  bees,  the  ants,  the  wolves 
hunting  together,  are  instances  in  point. — K. 

VII  [  6  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

analyzes  this  instinct.  Unfortunately,  scientific  animal  psychol- 
ogy is  still  in  its  infancy,  and  therefore  it  is  extremely  difficult  to 
disentangle  the  complex  relations  which  exist  between  the  social 
instinct,  properly  so-called,  and  the  parental  and  fihal  instincts, 
as  well  as  several  other  instincts  and  faculties,  such  as  sympathy, 
reason,  experience,  and  a  tendency  to  imitation.  Darwin  felt 
this  difficulty  very  much,  and  therefore  he  expressed  himself 
extremely  cautiously.  The  parental  and  fihal  instincts,  he  sug- 
gested, '  apparently  lie  at  the  base  of  the  social  instincts ' :  and  in 
another  place  he  wrote :  '  The  f eehng  of  pleasure  from  society  is 
probably  an  extension  of  the  parental  or  fihal  affections,  since  the 
social  instinct  seems  to  be  developed  by  the  young  remaining  for 
a  long  time  with  their  parents.' 

This  caution  was  fully  justified,  because  in  other  places  he 
pointed  out  that  the  social  instinct  must  be  a  separate  instinct  in 
itseljy  different  from  the  others — an  instinct  which  has  been  de- 
veloped by  natural  selection  jor  its  own  sake,  as  it  was  useful  for 
the  well-being  and  the  preservation  of  the  species.  It  is  so 
fundamental  that  when  it  runs  against  another  instinct,  even  one 
so  strong  as  the  attachment  of  the  parents  to  their  offspring,  it 
often  takes  the  upper  hand.  Birds,  when  the  time  has  come  for 
their  autumn  migration,  will  leave  behind  their  tender  young,  not 
yet  old  enough  for  a  prolonged  flight,  and  follow  their  comrades. 

To  this  striking  illustration  I  may  also  add  that  the  social 
instinct  is  strongly  developed  with  many  lower  animals,  such  as 
the  land-crabs,  or  the  Molucca  crab  * ;  as  also  with  certain  fishes, 
with  whom  it  hardly  could  be  considered  as  an  extension  of  the 
fihal  or  parental  f  eehngs.  In  these  cases  it  appears  rather  as  an 
extension  of  the  brotherly  or  sisterly  relations,  or  f  eehngs  of  com- 
radeshipj  which  probably  develop  each  time  that  a  considerable 
number  of  young  animals,  having  been  hatched  at  a  given  place 
and  at  a  given  moment,  continue  to  live  together — whether  they 
are  with  their  parents  or  not.  It  would  seem,  therefore,  more 
correct  to  consider  the  social  and  the  parental  instincts  as  two 
closely  connected  instinctSj  of  which  the  former  is  perhaps  the 
earlier,  and  therefore  the  stronger,  and  which  both  go  hand  in 
hand  in  the  evolution  of  the  animal  world.  Both  are  favored 
'^See  Mutual  Aid,  1903,  pp.  11  and  12. 

vn  [7] 


THE   BIRTH   OF   CONSCIENCE 

by  natural  selection,  which,  as  soon  as  they  come  into  conflict, 
keeps  the  balance  between  the  two,  for  the  ultimate  good  of  the 
species.^ 

The  most  important  point  in  the  ethical  theory  of  Darwin  is, 
of  course,  his  explanation  of  the  moral  conscience  of  man  and  his 
sense  of  remorse  and  duty.  This  point  has  always  been  the 
stumbHng-block  of  all  ethical  theories.  Kant,  as  is  known, 
utterly  failed,  in  his  otherwise  so  beautifully  written  work  on 
morahty,  to  estabhsh  why  his  '  categorical  imperative '  should  be 
obeyed  at  all,  unless  such  be  the  will  of  a  supreme  power.  We 
may  admit  that  Kant's  'moral  law,'  if  we  slightly  alter  its  for- 
mula, while  we  maintain  its  spirit,  is  a  necessary  conclusion  of  the 
human  reason.  We  certainly  object  to  the  metaphysical  form 
which  Kant  gave  it;  but,  after  all,  its  substance  is  equity,  justice. 
And,  if  we  translate  the  metaphysical  language  of  Kant  into  the 
concrete  language  of  inductive  science,  we  may  find  points  of 
contact  between  his  conception  of  the  origin  of  the  moral  law  and 
the  naturalist's  view  concerning  the  development  of  the  moral 
sense.  But  this  is  only  one-half  of  the  problem.  Supposing, 
for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  'pure  reason,'  free  from  all  obser- 
vation, all  f  eehng,  and  all  instinct,  in  virtue  of  its  inherent  proper- 
ties, should  necessarily  come  to  formulate  a  law  of  justice  similar 
to  Kant's  imperative,  and  granting  that  no  reasoning  being  could 
ever  come  to  any  other  conclusion,  because  such  are  the  inherent 
properties  of  reason — granting  all  this,  and  fully  recognizing  at 
the  same  time  the  elevating  character  of  Kant's  moral  philosophy, 
the  great  question  of  all  ethics  remains,  nevertheless,  in  full: 
'  Why  should  man  obey  the  moral  law,  or  principle,  formulated 
by  his  reason  ? '  Or,  at  least, '  Whence  that  feeling  of  obhgation 
which  men  are  experiencing  ? ' 

Several  critics  of  Kant's  ethical  philosophy  have  already 
pointed  out  that  it  left  this  great  fundamental  question  unsolved. 

iln  an  excellent  analysis  of  the  social  feeling  {Animal  Behaviour, 
1900,  pp.  231-232)  Professor  Lloyd  Morgan  says:  'And  this  question 
Prince  Kropotkin,  in  common  with  Darwin  and  Espinas,  would  prob- 
ably answer  without  hesitation  that  the  primaeval  germ  of  the  social 
community  lay  in  the  prolonged  coherence  of  the  group  of  parents  and 
offspring. '  I  should  only  add  the  words :  '  or  of  the  offspring  without  the 
parents,'  because  this  addition  would  better  agree  with  the  above  facts, 
while  it  also  more  correctly  renders  the  idea  of  Darwin. — K. 

VII  [  8  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

But  they  might  have  added  also  that  Kant  himself  had  recog- 
nized his  incapacity  of  solving  it.  After  having  thought  in- 
tensely upon  this  subject,  and  written  about  it  for  four  years,  he 
acknowledged  in  his  Philosophical  Theory  oj  Religion  (Part  I.> 
'  Of  the  Radical  Evil  of  Human  Nature,'  pubHshed  in  1792)  that 
he  was  unable  to  find  the  origin  of  the  moral  law.  In  fact,  he 
gave  up  the  whole  problem  by  recognizing  '  the  incomprehensi- 
bihty  of  this  capacity,  a  capacity  which  proclaims  a  divine  origin ' 
— this  very  incomprehensibihty  having  to  rouse  man's  spirit  to 
enthusiasm  and  to  strengthen  it  for  any  sacrifices  which  respect 
to  his  duty  may  impose  upon  him.^ 

Intuitive  philosophy  having  thus  acknowledged  its  incapac- 
ity to  solve  the  problem,  let  us  see  how  Darwin  solved  it  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  naturalist.  Here  is,  he  said,  a  man  who 
has  yielded  to  a  strong  sense  of  self-preservation,  and  has  not 
risked  his  Hfe  to  save  that  of  a  fellow- creature;  or,  he  has  stolen 
food  from  hunger.  In  both  cases  he  has  obeyed  a  quite  natural 
instinct,  and  the  question  is,  Why  should  he  feel  miserable  at 
all  ?  Why  should  he  think  that  he  ought  to  have  obeyed  some 
other  instinct,  and  acted  differently?  Because,  Darwin  repHes, 
in  human  nature  '  the  more  enduring  social  instincts  conquer  the 
less  persistent  instincts.'  Moral  conscience  has  always  a  retro- 
spective character;  it  speaks  in  us  when  we  think  of  our  past 
actions;  and  it  is  the  result  of  a  struggle,  during  which  the  less 
persistent,  the  less  permanent  individual  instinct  yields  before 
the  more  permanently  present  and  the  more  enduring  social  in- 
stinct. With  those  animals  which  always  live  in  society  'the 
social  instincts  are  ever  present  and  persistent.'  Such  animals 
are  always  ready  to  join  in  the  defence  of  the  group  and  to  aid 
each  other  in  different  ways.  They  feel  miserable  if  they  are 
separated  from  the  others.  And  it  is  the  same  with  man.  '  A 
man  who  possessed  no  trace  of  such  instincts  would  be  a  mon- 
ster.' On  the  other  hand,  the  desire  which  leads  a  man  to 
satisfy  his  hunger  or  his  anger,  or  to  escape  danger,  or  to  appro- 
priate somebody's  possessions,  is  in  its  nature  temporary.  Its 
satisfaction  is  always  weaker  than  the  desire  itself.  And  when 
we  think  of  it  in  the  past,  we  cannot  recall  it  as  vividly  as  it  was 

1  Hartleben's  edition  of  Kant's  works,  Vol.  VI.,  pp.  143,  144. 
VII  [9] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

before  its  satisfaction.  Consequently,  if  a  man,  with  a  view  of 
satisfying  such  a  desire,  has  acted  so  as  to  traverse  his  social  in- 
stinct, and  afterward  reflects  upon  his  action — which  we  con- 
tinually do — he  will  be  driven  'to  make  a  comparison  between 
the  impressions  of  past  hunger,  vengeance  satisfied,  or  danger 
shunned  at  other  men's  cost,  with  the  almost  ever-present  in- 
stinct of  sympathy,  and  with  his  early  knowledge  of  what  others 
consider  as  praiseworthy  or  blamable.'  And  once  he  has  made 
this  comparison  he  will  feci '  as  if  he  had  been  baulked  in  follow- 
ing a  present  instinct  or  habit,  and  this  with  all  animals  causes 
dis satis j action^  or  even  misery.'' 

And  then  Darwin  shows  how  the  primary  promptings  of  such 
a  conscience,  which  always  'looks  backward,  and  serves  as  a 
guide  for  the  future,'  may  take  the  aspect  of  shame,  regret,  re- 
pentance, or  even  violent  remorse,  if  the  f  eehng  be  supported  by 
reflection  about  the  judgment  of  those  with  whom  man  feels  in 
sympathy.  Later  on,  habit  will  necessarily  increase  the  power  of 
this  conscience  upon  man's  actions,  while  at  the  same  time  it  will 
tend  to  harmonize  more  and  more  the  desires  and  passions  of  the 
individual  with  his  social  sympathies  and  instincts.*  Altogether, 
the  great  difliculty  for  ethical  philosophy  is  to  explain  the  first 
germs  of  the  *  ought ' — the  appearance  of  the  first  whisper  of  the 
voice  which  pronounces  that  word.  If  that  much  has  been  ex- 
plained, the  accumulated  experience  of  the  community  and  its 
collective  teachings  will  explain  the  rest. 

We  have  thus,  for  the  first  time,  an  explanation  of  the  sense  of 

duty  on  a  natural  basis.     True  that  it  runs  counter  to  the  ideas 

that  are  current  now  about  animal  and  human  nature;  but  it  is 

correct.     Nearly  all  ethical  writers  have  hitherto  started  with  the 

unproved  postulate  that  the  strongest  of  all  the  instincts  of  man, 

1  In  a  foot-note  Darwin,  with  his  usual  deep  insight,  makes,  however, 
one  exception.  'Enmity,  or  hatred,'  he  remarks,  'seems  also  to  be  a 
highly  persistent  feeling,  perhaps  more  so  than  any  other  that  can  be 
named.  .  .  .  This  feeling  would  thus  seem  to  be  innate,  and  is  cer- 
tainly a  most  persistent  one.  It  seems  to  be  the  complement  and  con- 
verse of  the  true  social  instinct '  (foot-note  27).  This  feeling,  so  deeply 
seated  in  animal  nature,  evidently  explains  the  bitter  wars  that  are 
fought  between  different  tribes  or  groups  in  several  animal  species  and 
among  men.  It  explains  also  the  existence  of  two  different  codes  of 
morality  retained  till  now  among  civilized  nations.  But  this  important 
and  yet  neglected  subject  can  better  be  treated  in  connection  with  the 
development  of  the  idea  of  justice. — K. 

VU  i[lo] 


THE   BIRTH   OF   CONSCIENCE 

and  the  more  so  of  animals,  is  the  self- preservation  instinct^  which, 
owing  to  a  certain  looseness  of  their  terminology,  they  have 
identified,  in  man,  with  self-assertion,  or  egoism  properly  speak- 
ing. This  instinct,  which  they  conceived  as  including,  on  the 
one  side,  such  primary  impulses  as  self-defence,  self-preserva- 
tion, and  the  very  act  of  satisfying  hunger,  and,  on  the  other  side, 
such  derivative  feehngs  as  the  longing  for  domination,  greed, 
hatred,  the  desire  of  revenge,  and  so  on — this  compound  and 
heterogeneous  aggregate  of  instincts  and  feelings  they  repre- 
sented as  an  all-pervading  and  all-powerful  force,  which  finds  no 
contradiction  in  animal  and  human  nature,  excepting  in  a  cer- 
tain feeling  of  benevolence  or  mercy.  The  consequence  of  such 
a  view  was  that,  once  human  nature  was  recognized  as  such,  there 
obviously  remained  nothing  but  to  lay  a  special  stress  upon  the 
softening  influence  of  those  moral  teachfers  who  appealed  to 
mercy,  borrowing  the  spirit  of  their  teachings  and  the  impressive- 
ness  of  their  words  from  a  world  that  lies  outside  nature — outside 
and  above  the  world  which  is  accessible  to  our  senses.  And  if 
one  refused  to  accept  this  view,  the  only  alternate  issue  was  to 
attribute,  as  Hobbes  and  his  followers  did,  a  special  importance 
to  the  coercive  action  of  the  State,  inspired  by  genial  law-givers — 
which  meant,  of  course,  merely  to  shift  the  extra-natural  inspira- 
tion from  the  religious  preacher  to  the  law-maker. 

Beginning  with  the  Middle  Ages,  the  founders  of  ethical 
schools,  for  the  most  part  ignorant  of  nature,  to  the  study  of 
which  they  preferred  metaphysics,  had  represented  the  self- 
assertive  instincts  of  the  individual  as  the  very  condition  of  its 
physical  existence.  To  obey  their  promptings  was  considered 
as  the  law  of  nature,  the  neglect  of  which  would  lead  to  a  sure 
defeat  and  to  the  ultimate  disappearance  of  the  species.  There- 
fore, to  combat  these  egotistic  promptings  was  possible  only  if 
man  called  to  his  aid  the  supernatural  forces.  The  triumph  of 
moral  principles  was  thus  represented  as  a  triumph  oj  man  over 
nature,  which  he  may  hope  to  achieve  only  with  an  aid  from 
without,  coming  as  a  reward  for  his  humility.  They  told  us,  for 
instance,  that  there  is  no  greater  virtue,  no  greater  triumph  of 
the  spiritual  over  the  natural,  than  self-sacrifice  for  the  welfare  of 
our  fellow-men.  But  the  fact  is  that  self-sacrifice  in  the  interest 
vn  [ii] 


THE   BIRTH   OF   CONSCIENCE 

of  an  ants'  nest,  for  the  safety  of  a  group  of  birds,  or  the  security 
of  a  drove  of  cattle,  a  herd  of  antelopes,  or  a  band  of  monkeys,  is 
a  zoological  fact  of  every-day  occurrence  in  Natnre — a  fact  for 
which  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  animal  species  require  nothing 
else  but  natural  sympathy  with  their  fellow-creatures,  the  sensa- 
tion of  full  vital  energy,  and  a  constant  habit  of  mutual  aid. 
Darwin,  who  knew  nature,  had  the  courage  boldly  to  assert  that 
of  the  two  instincts — the  social  and  the  individual — it  is  the 
former  which  is  the  stronger,  the  more  persistent,  and  the  more 
permanently  present.  And  he  was  right.  The  instinct  of 
mutual  aid  pervades  the  animal  world,  because  natural  selection 
works  for  maintaining  and  further  developing  it,  and  pitilessly 
destroys  those  species  which  lose  it.  In  the  great  struggle  for 
life  which  every  animal  species  carries  on  against  the  hostile 
agencies  of  climate,  surroundings,  and  natural  enemies,  big  and 
small,  those  species  which  most  consistently  carry  out  the  prin- 
ciple of  mutual  support  have  the  best  chance  to  survive,  while  the 
others  die  out.  And  the  same  great  principle  is  confirmed  by  the 
history  of  mankind. 

It  is  most  remarkable  that  in  representing  the  social  instinct 
under  this  aspect  we  return,  in  fact,  to  what  Bacon,  the  great 
founder  of  inductive  science,  had  perceived.  In  his  programme 
of  the  work  to  be  done  by  the  next  generations  with  the  aid  of  the 
inductive  method,  in  The  Great  Instauration,  he  wrote : 

*' All  things  are  endued  with  an  appetite  for  two  kinds  of  good 
— the  one  as  a  thing  is  a  whole  in  itself,  the  other  as  it  is  a  part  of 
some  greater  whole;  and  this  latter  is  more  worthy  and  more 
powerful  than  the  other,  as  it  tends  to  the  conservation  of  a  more 
ample  form.  The  first  may  be  called  individual,  or  self -good, 
and  the  latter,  good  of  communion.  .  .  .  And  thus  it  generally 
happens  that  the  conservation  of  the  more  general  form  regu- 
lates the  appetites."  * 

1  On  the  Dignity  and  Advancement  of  Learning,  Book  VII.  chap.  i. 
We  certainly  find  Bacon's  arguments  in  favor  of  this  idea  insufficient; 
but  he  was  only  establishing  the  outlines  of  a  science,  which  had  to  be 
worked  out  by  his  followers.  In  another  place  he  returns  to  the  same 
idea.  He  speaks  of  '  two  appetites  [instincts]  of  the  creatures,'  (i)  that 
of  self-preservation  and  defence,  and  (2)  that  of  multiplying  and  prop-, 
agating,  and  he  adds,  'The  latter,  which  is  active,  seems  stronger  and 
more  worthy  than  the  former,  which  is  passive.' — K. 

VII  [  12  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

It  may  be  asked,  of  course,  whether  such  a  conception  agrees 
with  the  theory  of  natural  selection,  according  to  which  struggle 
for  Hf e,  within  the  species,  was  considered  a  necessary  condition 
for  the  appearance  of  new  species,  and  for  evolution  altogether  ? 
Having  already  touched  elsewhere  upon  this  question,  I  will  not 
enter  here  into  its  discussion,  and  will  only  add  the  following 
remark.  Immediately  after  the  appearance  of  Darwin's  work 
on  the  origin  of  species  we  were  all  inclined  to  believe  that  an 
acute  struggle  for  the  means  of  existence  between  the  members  of 
the  same  species  was  necessary  for  accentuating  the  variations, 
and  for  the  development  of  new  species.  But  the  deeper  we  go 
into  the  study  of  the  facts  of  nature,  and  realize  the  direct  influ- 
ence of  the  surroundings  for  producing  variation  in  a  definite 
direction,  as  also  the  influence  of  isolation  upon  portions  of  the 
species  separated  from  the  main  body  in  consequence  of  their 
migrations,  we  are  prepared  to  understand  '  struggle  for  life '  in  a 
much  wider  and  deeper  sense.  We  see  more  and  more  the  group 
oj  animals,  acting  as  a  whole,  carrying  on  the  struggle  against 
adverse  conditions,  or  against  some  such  an  enemy  as  a  kindred 
species,  by  means  of  mutual  support  within  the  group,  and  thus 
acquiring  habits  which  reduce  the  struggle,  while  they  lead  at  the 
same  time  to  a  higher  development  of  intelligence  among  those 
who  took  to  mutual  support.  The  above  objection  falls  through 
in  proportion  as  we  advance  in  our  knowledge  of  the  struggle 
for  life. 

Nature  has  thus  to  be  recognized  as  the  first  ethical  teacher  oj 
man.  The  social  instinct,  innate  in  men  as  well  as  it  is  in  all  the 
sociable  animals,  is  the  origin  of  all  ethical  conceptions  and  all 
the  subsequent  ethical  development. 


VII  [  13  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 


n 

Primitive  man  lived  in  close  intimacy  with  animals.  With 
some  of  them  he  probably  shared  the  shelters  under  the  rocks, 
occasionally  the  caverns,  and  very  often  food.  Not  more  than  a 
hundred  years  ago  the  natives  of  Siberia  and  America  astonished 
our  naturalists  by  their  thorough  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  the 
most  retiring  beasts  and  birds ;  but  primitive  man  stood  in  still 
closer  relations  to  the  animals,  and  knew  them  still  better.  The 
wholesale  extermination  of  Ufe  by  means  of  forest  and  prairie 
fires,  poisoned  arrows,  and  the  like,  had  not  yet  begun ;  and  from 
the  bewildering  abundance  of  animal  hfe  which  was  found  by  the 
white  settlers  when  they  first  took  possession  of  the  American 
continent  we  may  judge  of  the  density  of  the  animal  population 
during  the  early  Post-glacial  period.  Palaeolithic  and  neohthic 
man  lived  closely  surrounded  by  his  dumb  brothers — just  as  the 
shipwrecked  crew  of  Behring  lived  amidst  the  multitudes  of 
polar  foxes,  which  were  prowling  in  the  midst  of  their  encamp- 
ments and  gnawing  at  night  at  the  very  furs  upon  which  the  men 
were  sleeping.  Our  primitive  ancestors  lived  with  the  animals, 
in  the  midst  of  them.  And  as  soon  as  they  began  to  bring  some 
order  into  their  observations  of  nature,  and  to  transmit  them  to 
posterity,  the  animals  and  their  hfe  supplied  them  with  the  chief 
materials  for  their  unwritten  encyclopaedia  of  knowledge,  as  well 
as  for  their  wisdom,  which  they  expressed  in  proverbs  and  say- 
ings. Animal  psychology  was  the  first  psychology  which  man 
was  aware  of — it  is  still  a  favorite  subject  of  talk  at  the  camp- 
fires;  and  animal  Hfe,  closely  interwoven  with  that  of  man,  was 
the  subject  of  the  very  first  rudiments  of  art,  inspiring  the  first 
engravers  and  sculptors,  and  entering  into  the  composition  of 
the  most  ancient  epical  traditions  and  cosmogonic  myths. 

The  first  thing  which  our  children  learn  in  natural  history  is 
something  about  the  beasts  of  prey — the  lions  and  the  tigers. 
But  the  first  thing  which  primitive  savages  must  have  learned 
about  nature  was  that  it  represents  a  vast  agglomeration  of 
animal  clans  and  tribes:  the  ape  tribe,  so  nearly  related  to  man, 
the  ever-prowhng  wolf  tribe,  the  knowing,  chattering  bird  tribe, 
the  ever-busy  insect  tribe,  and  so  on.  For  them  the  animals 
VII  [14] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

were  an  extension  of  their  own  kin— only  so  much  wiser  than 
themselves.  And  the  first  vague  generahzation  which  men  must 
have  made  about  nature— so  vague  as  to  hardly  differ  from  a 
mere  impression— was  that  the  Uving  being  and  his  clan  or  tribe 
are  inseparable.  We  can  separate  them—they  could  not;  and 
it  seems  even  doubtful  whether  they  could  think  of  Hf e  otherwise 
than  within  a  clan  or  a  tribe. 

Such  an  impression  of  nature  was  unavoidable.     Among  his 
nearest  congeners— the  monkeys  and  the  apes— man  saw  hun- 
dreds of  species  Uving  in  large  societies,  united  together  within 
each  group  by  the  closest  bonds.     He  saw  how  they  supported 
each  other  during  their  foraging  expeditions,  how  they  combined 
against  their  common  enemies,  and  rendered  each  other  all  sorts 
of  small  services,  such  as  the  picking  of  thorns  from  each  other's 
fur,  the  nestUng  together  in  cold  weather,  and  so  on.     Of  course 
they  often  quarrelled,  but  there  was  more  noise  in  these  quarrels 
than  serious  haim,  and  at  times,  in  case  of  danger,  they  displayed 
the  most  striking  mutual  attachment,  to  say  nothing  of   the 
strong  devotion  of  the  mothers  to  their  young  ones,  which  they 
have  in  common  with  all  the  animals.     Sociability  was  thus  the 
rule  with  the  monkey  tribe;  and  if  there  are  now  two  species  of 
big  apes,  the  gorilla  and  the  orang-outang,  which  are  not  sociable, 
and  keep  in  small  f  amihes  only,  the  very  hmited  sizes  of  the  areas 
they  inhabit  are  a  proof  of  their  being  now  decaying  species- 
decaying,  perhaps,  on  account  of  the  merciless  war  which  men 
have  waged  against  them  in  consequence  of  the  very  resemblance 
between  the  two  species.^ 

Primitive  man  saw,  next,  that  even  among  the  carnivorous 
beasts,  which  Hve  by  kiUing  other  animals,  there  is  one  general 
and  invariable  rule:  They  never  kill  each  other.  Some  of  them 
are  very  sociable— such  are  all  the  dog  tribe:  the  jackals,  the 
dholes  or  kholzun  dogs,  the  hyenas.  Some  others  prefer  to  hve 
in  small  f amihes;  but  even  among  these  last  the  more  intelhgent 
ones— the  hons  and  the  leopards— occasionally  join  together  for 
hunting,  Uke  the  dog  tribe.  And  as  to  those  few  which  lead- 
nowadays,  at  least— a  quite  sohtary  Hf  e  in  small  f  amihes,  so  that 
even  the  females  with  their  cubs  will  often  keep  separate  from  the 
1  Several  African  travellers  speak  of  that  enmity  and  signal  its  causes. 

VII  [15] 


THE   BIRTH   OF   CONSCIENCE 

males,  the  same  general  rule  of  nature  prevails  among  them' 
they  do  not  kill  each  other.  Even  now,  when  the  myriads  of 
ruminants  which  formerly  peopled  the  prairies  have  been  exter- 
minated, and  the  tigers  live  mainly  on  man's  herds,  and  are  com- 
pelled, therefore,  to  keep  close  to  the  villages,  every  one  to  its  own 
domain — even  now  the  natives  of  India  will  tell  us  that  some- 
how the  tigers  manage  to  keep  to  their  separate  domains  without 
fighting  bloody  internecine  wars  for  securing  them.  Besides,  it 
appears  extremely  probable  that  even  those  few  animals  which 
now  lead  a  solitary  existence — such  as  the  tigers,  the  smaller 
species  of  the  cat  tribe  (nearly  all  nocturnal),  the  bears,  the  gen- 
ets, most  weasels,  the  marten  tribe,  the  hedgehog,  and  a  few 
others — were  not  always  sohtary  creatures.  For  some  of  them 
we  have  positive  evidence  that  they  remained  sociable  so  long  as 
they  escaped  extermination  by  man,  and  we  have  reason  to 
believe  that  nearly  all  of  them  were  in  the  same  conditions  in 
times  past.^  But  even  if  there  always  existed  a  few  unsociable 
species,  the  fact  is  that  man  has  always  considered  them  an 
exception. 

The  lesson  of  nature  was,  thus,  that  even  the  strongest  beasts 
are  bound  to  combine.  And  that  man  who  had  witnessed  once 
in  his  life  an  attack  of  wild  dogs,  or  dholes,  upon  the  biggest 
beasts  of  prey,  certainly  reahzed,  once  and  forever,  the  irresis- 
tible force  of  the  tribal  unions,  and  the  confidence  and  courage 
with  which  they  inspire  every  individual.  Man  made  divinities 
of  these  dogs,  and  worshipped  them,  trying  by  all  sorts  of  magic 
to  acquire  their  courage. 

In  the  prairies  and  the  woods  our  earliest  ancestors  saw 
myriads  of  animals,  all  living  in  clans  and  tribes.  Countless 
herds  of  red-deer,  fallow  deer,  reindeer,  gazelles  and  antelopes, 
thousands  of  droves  of  buffaloes  and  legions  of  wild  horses,  wild 
donkeys,  quaggas,  zebras,  and  so  on,  were  moving  over  the 
boundless  plains,  peacefully  grazing  side  by  side.  Even  the 
dreary  plateaus  had  their  herds  of  llamas  and  wild  camels.  And 
when  man  approached  these  animals,  he  soon  realized  how 
closely  connected  all  these  beings  were  in  their  respective  droves 
or  herds.  Even  when  they  seemed  fully  absorbed  in  grazing, 
1  See  Mutual  Aid,  chaps.  I.  and  II.,  and  Appendix. 

vii  [  i6  ] 


•      THE   BIRTH   OF   CONSCIENCE 

and  apparently  took  no  notice  of  the  others,  they  closely  watched 
each  other's  movements,  always  ready  to  join  in  some  common 
action.  Man  saw  that  all  the  deer  tribe,  whether  they  graze  or 
merely  gambol,  always  keep  sentries,  which  never  release  their 
watchfulness  and  never  are  late  to  signal  the  approach  of  a  beast 
of  prey;  he  knew  how,  in  case  of  sudden  attack,  the  males  and 
the  females  would  encircle  their  young  ones  and  face  the  enemy, 
exposing  their  lives  for  the  safety  of  the  feeble  ones;  and  how, 
even  with  such  timid  creatures  as  the  antelopes,  or  the  fallow 
deer,  the  old  males  would  often  sacrifice  themselves  in  order  to 
cover  the  retreat  of  the  herd.  Man  knew  all  that,  which  we 
ignore  or  easily  forget,  and  he  repeated  it  in  his  tales,  embeUish- 
ing  the  acts  of  courage  and  self-sacrifice  with  his  primitive  poetry, 
or  mimicking  them  in  his  religious  tribal  dances.  Still  less  could 
he  ignore  the  great  migrations  of  animals,  because  be  followed 
them — just  as  the  Chukchi  follows  still  the  herds  of  the  wild 
reindeer,  when  the  clouds  of  mosquitoes  drive  them  from  one 
place  of  the  Chukchi  peninsula  to  another,  or  as  the  Lapp  fol- 
lows the  herds  of  his  half-domesticated  reindeer  in  their  wander- 
ings, over  which  he  has  no  control.  And  if  we,  with  all  our  book- 
learning,  feel  unable  to  understand  how  animals  scattered  over  a 
wide  territory  can  warn  each  other  so  as  to  bring  their  thousands 
to  a  given  spot  before  they  begin  their  march  north,  south,  or 
west,  our  ancestors,  who  considered  the  animals  as  beings  so 
much  wiser  than  themselves,  saw  no  difiiculty  in  explaining  that 
intercourse.  For  them  all  animals — ^beasts,  birds,  and  fishes 
alike — were  in  continual  communication,  warning  each  other  by 
means  of  hardly  perceptible  signs  or  sounds,  informing  one 
another  about  all  sorts  of  events,  and  thus  constituting  one  vast 
community,  which  had  its  own  habits  and  rules  of  propriety  and 
good  behavior.  Even  to-day  deep  traces  of  that  conception  of 
nature  survive  in  the  folklore  of  all  nations. 

From  the  populous,  animated,  and  gay  villages  of  the  mar- 
mots, the  prairie  dogs,  the  jerboas,  the  hamsters,  and  so  on,  and 
from  the  colonies  of  that  silent  sage,  the  beaver,  with  which  the 
Post-glacial  rivers  were  thickly  studded,  primitive  man,  who  him- 
self had  begun  as  a  nomad  forest-dweller,  could  learn  the  ad- 
vantages of  settled  life,  permanent  dwellings,  and  labor  in  com- 
vn  [17] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE      • 

mon.  Even  now  we  can  see  how  the  nomad  cattle-breeders  of 
Mongolia,  whose  improvidence  is  phenomenal,  learn  from  the 
striped  marmot  {lamias  striatus)  the  advantages  of  agriculture 
and  foresight  when  they  plunder  quite  regularly  every  autumn 
the  underground  galleries  of  this  rodent,  and  seize  its  provisions 
of  eatable  bulbs.  The  granaries  of  many  smaller  rodents,  full  of 
all  sorts  of  eatable  seeds,  must  have  given  man  the  first  sugges- 
tion as  to  the  culture  of  cereals.  In  fact,  the  sacred  books  of  the 
East  contain  many  an  allusion  to  the  foresight  and  laboriousness 
of  the  animals,  which  are  set  up  as  an  example  to  man. 

The  birds,  in  their  turn— almost  every  one  of  their  species- 
gave  our  ancestors  a  lesson  of  the  most  intimate  sociabiHty,  of  the 
joys  of  social  life,  and  its  enormous  advantages.  It  certainly  did 
not  escape  the  attention  of  man  that,  even  among  the  birds  of 
prey,  many  species  of  falcons  are  extremely  sociable,  and  that 
even  some  eagles  combine  for  hunting;  while  the  flocks  of  kites 
will  sometimes  chase  the  strongest  eagle  and  get  hold  of  its  spoil. 
And  they  saw,  of  course,  many  a  time,  how  the  smallest  birds,  if 
they  are  numerous  enough,  overcome  their  first  terror  at  the  sight 
of  a  hawk,  and  chase  it,  immensely  enjoying  this  kind  of  sport. 

The  nesting  associations  of  aquatic  birds,  and  their  unanim- 
ity in  defending  their  young  broods  and  eggs,  were  well  known 
to  man.  He  knew  that  as  soon  as  he  approached  the  shore  of  a 
lake  where  thousands  of  birds  belonging  to  different  species  were 
nesting,  his  appearance  would  be  signalled  at  once;  how,  the 
moment  he  would  set  his  foot  upon  their  grounds,  hundreds  of 
birds  would  circle  and  fly  round  him,  skim  over  his  face,  bewilder 
him  by  the  flapping  of  their  wings,  deafen  him  by  their  cries,  and 
often  compel  him  to  retreat.  Man  knew  this  only  too  well,  for 
his  very  existence  in  the  early  summer  depended  upon  his  capac- 
ity to  resist  such  a  combined  attack  of  the  winged  tribe.  And 
then  the  joy  of  life  in  the  autumn  societies  of  the  bird-youngsters 
was  certainly  familiar  to  people  who  themselves  lived  in  the 
woods  and  by  the  side  of  the  forest  brooks.  Who  knows  if  the 
very  idea  of  wide  tribal  unions,  or,  at  least,  of  those  great  tribal 
hunts  {aha  with  the  Mongols,  kada  with  the  Tunguses),  which 
are  real  jetes,  lasting  a  couple  of  months  every  autumn,  was  not 
suggested  by  such  autumn  gatherings  of  the  birds,  in  which  so 
vn  [i8] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

many  widely  different  species  join  together,  spending  a  few  hours 
every  day  in  providing  their  food,  and  then  chattering  and 
fluttering  about  the  remainder  of  the  time  ? 

Man  knew  also,  of  course,  the  gay  play  of  animals,  the  sports 
in  which  several  species  dchght,  the  concerts  and  dances  of  some 
others;  the  flights  which  certain  species  perform  in  the  evenings, 
sometimes  with  a  wonderful  art  and  elaboration;  the  noisy 
meetings  which  are  held  by  the  swallows  and  other  migrating 
birds,  for  years  in  succession,  on  the  same  spot,  before  they  start 
on  their  long  journeys  south.  And  how  often  man  must  have 
stood  in  bewilderment  as  he  saw  the  immense  migrating  columns 
of  birds  passing  over  his  head  for  many  hours  in  succession. 
The  '  brute  savage '  knew  and  meditated  on  all  these  beauties  of 
nature,  which  we  have  forgotten  in  our  towns,  and  which  we  do 
not  even  find  in  our  'natural  history'  books,  compiled  for  teach- 
ing anything  but  life;  while  the  narratives  of  the  great  explorers 
— the  Humboldts,  the  Audubons,  the  Azaras,  the  Brehms — of 
which  every  page  was  a  picture  of  the  real  life  of  nature,  are 
mouldering  in  our  Hbraries. 

In  those  times  the  wide  world  of  the  running  waters  and  lakes 
was  not  a  sealed  book  for  man.  He  was  famihar  with  its  in- 
habitants as  well.  Even  now  many  semi-savage  natives  of 
Africa  and  Polynesia  profess  a  deep  reverence  for  the  crocodile. 
They  consider  him  a  near  relative  to  man — a  sort  of  ance&tor. 
They  even  avoid  naming  him  in  their  conversations,  and.  if  they 
must  mention  him  they  wiU  say '  the  old  grandfath^,',or  use  some 
other  word  expressing  kinship  and  veneration.  ■  The  crocodile, 
they  maintain,  acts  exactly  as  they  themselves  do.  He  will  never 
finally  swallow  his  prey  without  having  invited  his  relatives  and 
friends  to  share  the  food ;  and  if  one  of  his  tribe  has  been  killed 
by  man,  otherwise  than  in  due  and  just  blood  revenge,  he  will 
take  vengeance  upon  any  one  of  the  murderer's  kin.  Therefore, 
if  a  negro  has  been  eaten  by  a  crocodile,  his  tribe  will  take  the 
greatest  care  to  discover  the  real  culprit,  and  when  he  has  been 
discovered  and  killed,  they  will  carefully  examine  his  intestines, 
in  order  to  make  sure  that  there  has  been  no  mistake ;  but  if  no 
proof  of  the  beast's  guilt  is  forthcoming,  they  will  make  all  sorts 
of  expiatory  amends  to  the  crocodile  tribe,  in  order  to  appease 
VII  [  19  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

the  relatives  of  the  innocently  slaughtered  individual,  and  con- 
tinue to  search  for  the  real  culprit.  Otherwise  the  kinsfolk  of 
the  former  would  take  revenge.  The  same  belief  exists  among 
the  Red  Indians  concerning  the  rattlesnake  and  the  wolf,  and  its 
bearing  upon  the  subsequent  development  of  the  idea  of  justice 
is  self-evident. 

The  fishes,  their  shoals,  and  the  ways  they  play  in  the  trans- 
parent waters,  exploring  them  by  their  scouts  before  they  move 
in  a  given  direction,  must  have  deeply  impressed  man  from  a 
remote  antiquity.  Traces  of  this  impression  are  found  in  folk- 
lore in  many  parts  of  the  globe.  Thus,  for  instance,  Dekana- 
wideh,  the  legendary  law-giver  of  the  Five  Nations  of  the  Red 
Indians,  who  is  supposed  to  have  given  them  the  class  organiza- 
tion, is  represented  as  having  retired  first  to  meditate  in  contact 
with  nature.  He  '  reached  the  side  of  a  smooth,  clear,  running 
stream,  transparent  and  full  of  fishes.  He  sat  down,  reclining  on 
the  sloping  bank,  gazing  intent  into  the  waters,  watching  the 
fishes  playing  about  in  complete  harmony.  .  .  .'  Thereupon  he 
conceived  the  scheme  of  dividing  his  people  into  gentes  and 
classes,  or  totems.^ 

Altogether,  for  the  primitive  savage,  animals  are  mysterious, 
problematic  beings,  possessed  of  a  wide  knowledge  of  the  things 
of  nature.  They  know  much  more  than  they  are  ready  to  tell  us. 
In  some  way  or  another,  by  the  aid  of  senses  much  more  refined 
than  ours,  and  by  telling  to  each  other  all  that  they  notice  in 
their  rambles  and  flights,  they  know  everything,  for  miles  round. 
And  if  man  has  been  '  just '  toward  them,  they  will  warn  him  of 
a  coming  danger,  as  they  warn  each  other ;  but  they  will  take  no 
heed  of  him  if  he  has  not  been  straightforward  in  his  actions. 
Snakes  and  birds  (the  owl  is  a  leader  of  the  snakes),  mammals 
and  insects,  lizards  and  fishes — all  understand  each  other,  and 
continually  communicate  their  observations  to  one  another. 
They  all  belong  to  one  brotherhood,  into  which  they  may,  in 
some  cases,  admit  man. 

Inside  this  vast  brotherhood  there  are,  of  course,  the  still 

closer  brotherhoods  of  beings  'of  one  blood.'     The  monkeys, 

ij.  Brant-Sero,  'Dekanawideh,'  in  Man,  1901,  p.  166.  In  other 
legends  the  wise  man  of  the  tride  learns  wisdom  from  the  beaver,  or  the 
squirrel,  or  some  bird. 

VII  [  20  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

the  bears,  the  wolves,  the  elephants  and  the  rhinoceroses,  most 
ruminants,  the  hares  and  most  of  the  rodents,  the  crocodiles,  and 
so  on,  perfectly  know  their  own  kin,  and  they  will  not  tolerate 
any  one  of  their  relatives  to  be  slaughtered  by  man  without 
taking,  in  one  way  or  another,  honest  revenge.  This  conception 
must  have  had  an  extremely  remote  origin.  It  must  have  grown 
at  a  time  when  man  had  not  yet  become  omnivorous  (which  I  am 
incHned  to  think,  must  have  happened  during  the  Glacial  period) 
and  had  not  yet  begun  to  hunt  animals  for  food.  However,  the 
same  conception  has  been  retained  down  to  the  present  time. 
Even  now,  when  a  savage  is  hunting,  he  is  bound  to  respect  cer- 
tain rules  of  propriety  toward  the  animals,  and  he  must  perform 
certain  expiatory  ceremonies  after  his  hunt.  Most  of  these 
ceremonies  are  rigorously  enacted,  even  nowadays  in  the  savage 
clans,  especially  as  regards  those  species  which  are  considered 
the  allies  of  man. 

It  is  well  known  that  two  men  belonging  to  two  different 
clans  or  tribes  can  become  brothers  by  mixing  the  blood  of  the 
two,  obtained  from  small  incisions  made  for  that  purpose.  To 
enter  into  such  a  union  was  quite  habitual  in  olden  times,  and  we 
learn  from  the  folklore  of  all  nations,  and  especially  the  sagas,  how 
religiously  such  a  brotherhood  was  observed.  But  it  was  also 
quite  habitual  for  man  to  enter  into  brotherhood  with  some 
animal.  The  tales  continually  mention  it.  An  animal  asks  a 
hunter  to  spare  it,  and  if  the  hunter  accedes  to  the  demand  the 
two  become  brothers.  And  then  the  monkey,  the  bear,  the  doe, 
the  bird,  the  crocodile,  or  the  bee — any  one  of  the  sociable  ani- 
mals— will  take  all  possible  care  of  the  man-brother  in  the  critical 
circumstances  of  his  life,  sending  his  or  her  animal  brothers  of 
different  tribes  to  warn  him  or  help  him  out  of  a  difficulty.  And 
if  the  warning  comes  too  late,  or  is  misunderstood,  and  he  loses 
his  life,  they  will  all  try  to  bring  him  back  to  life,  and  if  they  fail 
they  will  take  the  due  revenge,  just  as  if  the  man  had  been  one  of 
their  own  kin. 

When  I  journeyed  in  Siberia  I  was  often  struck,  without 
understanding  it,  with  the  care  which  my  Tungus  or  Mongol 
guide  would  take  not  to  uselessly  kill  any  animal.  The  fact  is 
that  every  lije  is  respected  by  a  savage,  or  rather  it  was  before  he 

VII  [  21  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

came  in  contact  with  Europeans.  If  he  kills  an  animal,  it  is  for 
food  or  for  clothing ;  but  he  does  not  destroy  Hf e,  as  the  whites 
do,  for  the  mere  excitement  of  the  slaughter.  True,  the  Red 
Indians  have  done  that  with  the  buffaloes ;  but  it  w^as  only  after 
they  had  been  for  a  long  time  in  contact  with  the  whites,  and  had 
got  from  them  the  rifle  and  the  quick-firing  revolver.  Of  course, 
there  are  rascals  among  the  animals — the  hyena,  for  instance,  or 
the  shrew-mouse,  or  the  man-eating  tiger;  but  these  do  not 
count:  they  are  outlaws.  As  to  the  great  animal  world  as  a 
whole,  savage  children  are  taught  to  respect  it  and  to  see  in  it  an 
extension  of  their  own  kin. 

The  idea  of  'justice,'  conceived  at  its  origin  as  revenge,  is 
thus  connected  with  observations  made  on  animals.  But  it 
appears  extremely  probable  that  the  idea  of  reward  for  '  just '  and 
*  unjust'  treatment  must  also  have  originated,  with  primitive 
mankind,  from  the  idea  that  animals  take  revenge  if  they  have 
not  been  properly  treated  by  man,  and  repay  kindness  with  kind- 
ness. This  idea  is  so  deeply  rooted  in  the  minds  of  the  savages 
all  over  the  world  that  it  may  be  considered  as  one  of  the  most 
primitive  conceptions  of  mankind.  Extended  from  a  few  ani- 
mals to  all  of  them,  it  soon  embodied  the  whole  of  nature — the 
trees  and  the  forests,  the  rivers  and  the  seas,  the  rocks  and  the 
mountains,  which  are  all  living.  Gradually  it  grew  to  be  a  con- 
ception of  the  great  whole,  bound  together  by  certain  links  of 
mutual  support,  which  watches  all  the  actions  of  the  living  beings 
and,  owing  to  that  solidarity  in  the  universe,  undertakes  the 
revenge  of  wrong  deeds.  It  became  the  conception  of  the  Eumen- 
ides  and  the  Moirai  of  the  Greeks,  the  Parcae  of  the  Romans, 
and  especially  the  Karma  of  the  Hindoos.  The  Greek  legend  of 
the  cranes  of  Ibikus,  which  links  together  man  and  birds,  and 
countless  Eastern  legends,  are  poetical  embodiments  of  the  same 
conception. 

This  is  what  primitive  man  saw  in  nature  and  learned  from  it. 
With  our  scholastic  education,  which  has  systematically  ignored 
nature  and  has  tried  to  explain  its  most  common  facts  by  meta- 
physical subtleties,  we  began  to  forget  that  lesson.  But  for  our 
Stone -Age  ancestors  sociabihty  and  mutual  aid  within  the  tribe 
must  have  been  a  fact  so  general  in  nature,  so  habitual,  and  so 

VII  [  22  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  CONSCIENCE 

common  that  they  certainly  could  not  imagine  Hf  e  under  another 
aspect.  The  conception  of  an  isolated  being  is  a  later  product  of 
civiUzation — an  abstraction,  which  it  took  ages  to  develop  in  the 
human  race.  To  a  primitive  man  isolated  life  seems  so  strange, 
so  much  out  of  the  usual  course  of  nature,  that  when  he  sees  a 
tiger,  a  badger,  a  shrew-mouse,  or  a  kingfisher  leading  a  solitary 
existence,  or  when  he  notices  a  tree  that  stands  alone,  far  from 
the  forest,  he  creates  a  legend  to  explain  this  strange  occurrence. 
He  makes  no  legends  to  explain  life  in  societies,  but  he  has  one 
for  every  case  of  solitude.  The  hermit,  if  he  is  not  a  sage  or  a 
wizard,  is  in  most  cases  an  outcast  of  animal  society.  He  has 
done  something  so  contrary  to  the  ordinary  run  of  hf  e  that  they 
have  thrown  him  out.  Very  often  he  is  a  sorcerer,  who  has  the 
command  of  all  sorts  of  dangerous  powers,  and  has  something  to 
do  with  the  pestilential  corpses  which  sow  disease  in  the  world. 
This  is  why  he  prowls  at  night,  prosecuting  his  wicked  designs 
under  the  cover  of  darkness.  All  other  beings  in  nature  are 
sociable,  and  human  thought  runs  in  this  channel.  Sociable 
life — that  is,  we,  not  I — is,  in  the  eyes  of  primitive  man,  the 
normal  form  of  life.  It  is  life  itselj.  Therefore  '  We '  must  have 
been  the  normal  form  of  thinking  for  primitive  man :  a  '  cate- 
gory '  of  his  understanding,  as  Kant  might  have  said.  And  not 
even  'We,'  which  is  still  too  personal,  because  it  represents  a 
multiphcation  of  the  '/'s,'  but  rather  such  expressions  as  'the 
men  of  the  beaver  tribe,'  'the  kangaroo  men,'  or  'the  turtles.' 
This  was  the  primitive  form  of  thinking,  which  nature  impressed 
upon  the  mind  of  man. 

Here,  in  that  identification,  or,  we  might  even  say,  in  this  ab- 
sorption of  the  'I'  by  the  tribe,  Hes  the  root  of  all  ethical  thought. 
The  self -asserting  '  individual'  came  much  later  on.  Even  now, 
with  the  lower  savages,  the  '  individual '  hardly  exists  at  all.  It 
is  the  tribe,  with  its  hard-and-fast  rules,  superstitions,  taboos, 
habits,  and  interests,  which  is  always  present  in  the  mind  of  the 
child  of  nature.  And  in  that  constant,  ever-present  identifica- 
tion of  the  unit  with  the  whole  hes  the  substratum  of  all  ethics, 
the  germ  out  of  which  all  the  subsequent  conceptions  of  justice, 
and  the  still  higher  conceptions  of  morality,  grew  up  in  the  course 
of  evolution. 

vn  [23] 


VIII 


THE  SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

THE  GROWTH  OF  MODERN  IDEAS  ON  ANIMALS" 

BY 

COUNTESS  CESARESCO 


TF  we  accept,  or  even  partly  accept,  the  views  oj  Prince  Kropot- 
-*  kin  as  to  the  development  oj  men  jrom  animals,  and  as  to 
the  nature  and  extent  of  our  moral  debt  to  the  lower  orders  of  life, 
then  indeed  the  question  of  the  possibility  of  a  soul  in  the  beast 
becomes  of  deepest  interest.  So  also  does  the  obverse  of  the  same 
idea,  our  treatment  of,  our  duty  toward  our  "  brethren  of  the  wild.'* 
How  many  of  us  have  felt  urged  to  lament  with  Burns: 

*'rm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion, 
Has  broken  nature's  social  union, 
An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion. 
Which  makes  thee  startle 
At  me,  thy  poor,  earth-born  companion. 
An'  fellow-mortal. " 

It  is  this  side  of  the  question,  the  humane  side,  that  seems  ever 
uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  Countess  E.  Martinengo  Cesaresco. 
She  is  known  throughout  the  English  and  Italian  races,  indeed 
throughout  the  world,  as  a''  friend  of  the  creature.^'  She  has  been 
active  in  his  service  and  has  written  in  his  favor  many  times.  In 
the  following  article,  however,  she  keeps  in  mind  the  historic  and 
also  the  scientific  side  of  her  subject,  and  presents  us  a  summation 
of  the  most  recent  (1907)  thought  upon  the  relation  of  man  and 
beast. 

The  last  age  of  antiquity  was  an  age  of  yeast.     Ideas  were  in 
fermentation;   religious  questions  came  to  be  regarded  as  '* in- 
teresting" — just  as  they  are  now.    The  spirit  of  inquiry  took  the 
VIII  [  I  ] 


THE  SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

place  of  placid  acceptance  on  the  one  hand,  and  placid  indiffer- 
ence on  the  other.  It  was  natural  that  there  should  be  a  re- 
bound from  the  effort  of  Augustus  to  re-order  rehgion  on  an  Im- 
perial, conventional,  and  unemotional  basis.  Then,  too,  Rome, 
which  had  never  been  really  ItaUan  except  in  the  subhme  pre- 
visions of  Virgil,  grew  every  day  more  cosmopolitan:  the  deni- 
zens of  the  discovered  world  found  their  way  thither  on  business, 
for  pleasure,  as  slaves— the  influence  of  these  last  not  being  the 
least  important  factor,  though  its  extent  and  character  are  not 
easy  to  define.  Everything  tended  to  foment  a  reHgious  unrest 
which  took  the  form  of  one  of  those  "returns  to  the  East"  that 
are  ever  destined  to  recur:  the  spiritual  sense  of  the  Western 
world  became  OrientaHzed.  The  worship  of  Isis  and  Serapis 
and  much  more  of  Mithra  proved  to  be  more  exciting  than  the 
worship  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  gods  which  represented 
Nature  and  law,  while  the  new  cults  proposed  to  raise  the  veil  on 
what  transcends  natural  perception.  No  doubt  the  atmosphere 
of  the  East  itself  favored  their  rapid  development;  the  traveller 
in  North  Africa  must  be  struck  by  the  extraordinary  frequency 
with  which  the  symbols  of  Mithraism  recur  in  the  sculpture  and 
mosaics  of  that  once  great  Roman  dependency.  Evidently  the 
birthland  of  St.  Augustine  bred  in  the  matter-of-fact  Roman 
colonist  the  same  nostalgia  for  the  Unknowable  which  even  now 
a  lonely  night  under  the  stars  of  the  Sahara  awakes  in  the  dullest 
European  soul.  Personal  immortality  as  a  paramount  doctrine ; 
a  further  hfe  more  real  than  this  one;  ritual  purification,  re- 
demption by  sacrifice,  mystical  union  with  deity— these  were 
among  the  un-Roman  and  even  anti-Roman  conceptions  which 
lay  behind  the  new,  strange  propaganda,  and  prepared  the  way 
for  the  diffusion  of  Christianity.  With  the  Italian  peasants  who 
clung  to  the  unmixed  older  faith  no  progress  was  made  till  perse- 
cution could  be  called  in  as  an  auxiliary. 

In  such  a  time  it  was  a  psychological  certainty  that  among 
the  other  Eastern  ideas  which  were  coming  to  the  fore  would  be 
those  ideas  about  animals  which  are  roughly  classed  under  the 
head  of  Pythagoreanism.  The  apostles  of  Christ  in  their  jour- 
neys east  or  west  might  have  met  a  singular  individual  who 
was  carrying  on  an  apostolate  of  his  own,  the  one  clear  and  un- 

VIII  [  2  ] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

yielding  point  of  which  was  the  aboUtion  of  animal  sacrifices. 
This  was  ApoUonius  of  Tyana,  our  knowledge  of  whom  is  de- 
rived from  the  biography,  in  part  perhaps  fanciful,  written  by 
Philostratus  in  the  third  century  to  please  the  Empress  Julia 
Domna,  who  was  interested  in  occult  matters.  ApoUonius 
worked  wonders  as  well  attested  as  those,  for  instance,  of  the 
Russian  Father  John,  but  he  seems  to  have  considered  his  power 
the  naturally  produced  result  of  an  austere  Hfe  and  abstinence 
from  flesh  and  wine,  which  is  a  thoroughly  Buddhist  or  Jaina 
theory.  He  was  a  Theosophist  who  refrained  from  attacking 
the  outward  forms  and  observances  of  estabhshed  religion  when 
they  did  not  seem  to  him  either  to  be  cruel  or  else  incongruous  to 
the  degree  of  preventing  a  reverential  spirit.  He  did  not  entirely 
understand  that  this  degree  is  movable,  any  more  than  do  those 
persons  who  want  to  substitute  Gregorian  chants  for  opera  airs 
in  rural  ItaUan  churches.  He  did  not  mind  the  Greek  statues 
which  appealed  to  the  imagination  by  suggestions  of  beauty,  but 
he  blamed  the  Egyptians  for  representing  deity  as  a  dog  or  an 
ibis;  if  they  disUked  images  of  stone,  why  not  have  a  temple 
where  there  were  no  images  of  any  kind,  where  all  was  left  to  the 
inner  vision  of  the  worshipper  ?  In  which  question,  almost  acci- 
dentally, ApoUonius  throws  out  a  hint  of  the  highest  form  of 
spiritual  worship. 

The  keenly  intellectual  thinkers  whom  we  call  the  Fathers  of 
the  Church  saw  that  the  majority  of  the  ideas  then  agitating 
men's  minds  might  find  a  quietus  in  Christian  dogma,  which 
suited  them  a  great  deal  better  than  the  vague  and  often  gro- 
tesque shape  they  fiad  worn  hitherto.  But  there  was  a  residuum 
of  which  they  felt  an  instinctive  fear,  and  pecuhar  notions  about 
animals  had  the  ill-luck  of  being  placed  at  the  head  of  these. 
It  could  not  have  been  a  fortunate  coincidence  that  two  of  the 
most  prominent  men  who  held  them  in  the  early  centuries  were 
declared  foes  of  the  new  faith — Celsus  and  Porphyry. 

When  the  Church  triumphed,  the  treatise  written  by  Celsus 
would  have  been  no  doubt  entirely  destroyed  Hke  other  works  of 
the  same  sort,  had  not  Origen  made  a  great  number  of  quota- 
tions from  it  for  the  purpose  of  confutation.  Celsus  was  no 
borne  disputant  after  the  fashion  of  the  Octavius  of  Minucius, 
VHi  [3] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

but  a  man  of  almost  encyclopa3dic  learning;  if  he  was  a  less  fair 
critic  than  he  held  himself  to  be,  it  was  less  from  want  of  infor- 
mation than  from  want  of  that  sympathy  which  is  needful  for 
true  comprehension.  The  inner  f  eehng  of  such  a  man  toward 
the  Christian  Sectaries  was  not  nearly  so  much  that  of  a  Torque- 
mada  in  regard  to  heretics  as  that  of  an  old-fashioned  Tory  up- 
holder of  throne  and  altar  toward  dissent  fifty  years  ago.  It 
was  a  f eehng  of  social  aloofness. 

Yet  Celsus  wished  to  be  fair,  and  he  had  studied  religions  to 
enough  purpose  not  to  condemn  as  delusion  or  untruth  every- 
thing that  a  superficial  adversary  would  have  rejected  at  once; 
for  instance,  he  was  ready  to  allow  that  the  appearances  of  Christ 
to  His  disciples  after  the  Crucifixion  might  be  explained  as 
psychical  phenomena.  Possibly  he  believed  that  truth,  not 
falsehood,  was  the  ultimate  basis  of  all  religions,  as  was  the 
behef  of  Apollonius  before  him.  In  some  respects  Celsus  was 
more  unprejudiced  than  Apollonius;  this  can  be  observed  in  his 
remarks  on  Egyptian  zoomorphism ;  it  causes  surprise,  he  says, 
when  you  go  inside  one  of  the  splendid  Egyptian  temples  to  find 
for  divinity  a  cat,  a  monkey,  or  a  crocodile,  but  to  the  initiated  they 
are  symbols  which  under  an  allegorical  veil  turn  people  to  honor 
imperishable  ideas,  not  perishable  animals  as  the  vulgar  suppose. 

It  may  have  been  his  recondite  researches  which  led  Celsus 
to  take  up  the  question  of  the  intelHgence  of  animals  and  the 
conclusions  to  be  drawn  from  it.  He  only  touches  lightly  on 
the  subject  of  their  origin;  he  seems  to  lean  toward  the  theory 
that  the  soul,  life,  mind,  only  is  made  by  God,  the  corruptible 
and  passing  body  being  a  natural  growth  or  perhaps  the  handi- 
work of  inferior  spirits.  He  denied  that  reason  belonged  to 
man  alone,  and  still  more  strongly  that  God  created  the  universe 
for  man  rather  than  for  the  other  animals.  Only  absurd  pride, 
he  says,  can  engender  such  a  thought.  He  knew  very  well 
that  this,  far  from  being  a  new  idea,  was  the  normal  view  of 
the  ancient  world  from  Aristotle  to  Cicero;  the  distinguished 
men  who  disagreed  with  it  had  never  won  more  than  a  small 
minority  over  to  their  opinion.  Celsus  takes  Euripides  to  task 
for  saying : 

*  The  sun  and  moon  arc  made  to  serve  mankind." 
VIII  [4] 


THE  SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

Why  mankind  ?  he  asks;  why  not  ants  and  flies  ?     Night  serves 
them  also  for  rest,  and  day  for  seeing  and  working.     If  it  be 
said  that  we  are  the  king  of  animals  because  we  hunt  and  catch 
them  or  because  we  eat  them,  why  not  say  that  we  are  made 
for  them  because  they  hunt  and  catch  us?     Indeed,  they  are 
better  provided  than  we,  for  while  we  need  arms  and  nets  to 
take  them  and  the  help  of  several  men  and  dogs.  Nature  fur- 
nishes them  with  the  arms  they  require,  and  we  are,  as  it  were, 
made  dependent  on  them.     You  want  to  make  out  that  God 
gave  you  the  power  to  take  and  kill  wild  animals,  but  at  the 
time  when  there  were  no  towns  or  civiHzation  or  society  or  arms 
or  nets,  animals  probably  caught  and  devoured  men  while  men 
never  caught  animals.     In  this  way,  it  looks  more  as  if  God 
subjected  man  to  animals  than  vice  versa.     If  men  seem  dif- 
ferent from  animals  because  they  build  cities,  make  laws,  obey 
magistrates  and  rulers,  you  ought  to  note  that  this  amounts  to 
nothing  at  all,  since  ants  and  bees  do  just  the  same.     Bees 
have  their  "kings";   some  command,  others  obey;   they  make 
war,  win  battles,  take  prisoners  the  vanquished ;  they  have  their 
towns  and  quarters;   their  work  is  regulated  by  fixed  periods; 
they  punish  the  lazy  and  cowardly — at  least,  they  expel  the 
drones.     As  to  ants,  they  practise  the  science  of  social  economy 
just  as  well  as  we  do;  they  have  granaries  which  they  fill  with 
provisions  for  the  winter;   they  help  their  comrades  if  they  see 
them  bending  under  the  weight  of  a  burden;   they  carry  their 
dead  to  places  which  become  family  tombs;  they  address  each 
other  when  they  meet:   whence  it  follows  that  they  never  lose 
their  way.     We  must  conclude,  therefore,  that  they  have  com- 
plete reasoning  powers  and  common  notions  of  certain  general 
truths,  and  that  they  have  a  language  and  know  how  to  ex- 
press fortuitous  events.     If  some  one,  then,  looked  down  from 
the  height  of  heaven  on  to  the  earth,  what  difference  would  he 
see  between  our  actions  and  those  of  ants  and  bees?     If  man 
is  proud  of  knowing  magical  secrets,  serpents  and  eagles  know 
a  great  deal  more,  for  they  use  many  preservatives  against 
poisons  and  diseases,  and  are  acquainted  with  the  virtues  of 
certain  stones  with  which  they  cure  the  ailments  of  their  young 
ones,  while  if  men  find  out  such  a  cure  they  think  they  have  hit 
vni  [5I 


THE  SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

on  the  greatest  wonder  in  the  world.  Finally,  if  man  imagine 
that  he  is  superior  to  animals  because  he  possesses  the  notion 
of  God,  let  him  know  that  it  is  the  same  with  many  of  them; 
what  is  there  more  divine,  in  fact,  than  to  foresee  and  to  fore- 
tell the  future?  Now  for  that  purpose  men  have  recourse  to 
animals,  especially  to  birds,  and  all  our  soothsayers  do  is  to 
understand  the  indications  given  by  these.  If,  therefore,  birds 
and  other  prophetic  animals  show  us  by  signs  the  future  as  it 
is  revealed  to  them  by  God,  it  proves  that  they  have  closer 
relations  with  the  deity  than  we;  that  they  are  wiser  and  more 
loved  by  God.  Very  enlightened  men  have  thought  that  they 
understood  the  language  of  certain  animals,  and  in  proof  of 
this  they  have  been  known  to  predict  that  birds  would  do  some- 
thing or  go  somewhere,  and  this  was  observed  to  come  true. 
No  one  keeps  an  oath  more  religiously  or  is  more  faithful  to 
God  than  the  elephant,  which  shows  that  he  knows  Him. 

Hence,  concludes  Celsus,  the  universe  has  not  been  made 
for  man  any  more  than  for  the  eagle  or  the  dolphin.  Every- 
thing was  created  not  in  the  interest  of  something  else,  but  to 
contribute  to  the  harmony  of  the  whole  in  order  that  the  world 
might  be  absolutely  perfect.  God  takes  care  of  the  universe; 
it  is  that  which  His  providence  never  forsakes,  that  which  never 
falls  into  disorder.  God  no  more  gets  angry  with  men  than 
with  rats  or  monkeys :  everything  keeps  its  appointed  place. 

In  this  passage  Celsus  rises  to  a  higher  level  than  in  any 
other  of  the  excerpts  preserved  for  us  by  Origen.  The  tone 
of  irony  which  usually  characterizes  him  disappears  in  this 
dignified  affirmation  of  supreme  wisdom  justified  of  itself,  not 
by  the  little  standards  of  men — or  ants.  It  must  be  recognized 
as  a  lofty  conception,  commanding  the  respect  of  those  who 
differ  from  it,  and  reconciling  all  apparent  difficulties  and  con- 
tradictions forced  upon  us  by  the  contemplation  of  man  and 
Nature.  But  it  brings  no  water  from  the  cool  spring  to  souls 
dying  of  thirst;  it  expounds  in  the  clearest  way  and  even  in 
the  noblest  way  the  very  thought  which  drove  men  into  the 
Christian  fold  far  more  surely  than  the  learned  apologies  of 
controversialists  like  Origen:  the  thought  of  the  crushing  un- 
importance of  the  individual. 

vin  [6] 


THE  SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

The  least  attentive  reader  must  be  struck  by  the  real  knowl- 
edge of  natural  history  shown  by  Celsus;  his  ants  are  nearly 
as  conscientiously  observed  as  Lord  Avebury's.  Yet  a  certain 
suspicion  of  conscious  exaggeration  detracts  from  the  serious- 
ness of  his  arguments;  he  strikes  one  as  more  sincere  in  disbeliev- 
ing than  in  believing.  A  modern  writer  has  remarked  that 
Celsus  in  the  second  half  of  the  second  century  forestalled 
Darwin  in  the  second  half  of  the  nineteenth  by  denying  human 
ascendancy  and  contending  that  man  may  be  a  little  lower 
than  the  brute.  But  it  scarcely  seems  certain  whether  he  was 
convinced  by  his  own  reasoning  or  was  not  rather  replying  by 
paradoxes  to  what  he  considered  the  still  greater  paradoxes  of 
Christian  theology. 

The  shadow  of  no  such  doubt  falls  on  the  pages  of  the  neo- 
platonists  Plotinus  and  Porphyry.  To  them  the  destiny  of 
animals  was  not  an  academic  problem,  but  an  obsession.  The 
questions  which  Heine's  young  man  asked  of  the  waves — "What 
signifies  man?  Whence  does  he  come?  Whither  does  he 
go?" — were  asked  by  them  with  passionate  earnestness  in 
their  application  to  all  sentient  things.  Plotinus  reasoned, 
with  great  force,  that  intelligent  beast-souls  must  be  like  the 
soul  of  man,  since  in  itself  the  essence  of  the  soul  could  not  be 
different.  Porphyry  (born  at  Tyre,  a.d.  233),  accepting  this 
postulate  that  animals  possess  an  intelligent  soul  like  ours, 
went  on  to  declare  that  it  was  therefore  unlawful  to  kill  or  feed 
on  them  under  any  circumstances.  If  justice  is  due  to  rational 
beings,  how  is  it  possible  to  evade  the  conclusion  that  we  are 
also  bound  to  act  justly  toward  the  races  below  us?  He  who 
loves  all  animated  nature  will  not  single  out  one  tribe  of  inno- 
cent beings  for  hatred ;  if  he  loves  the  whole  he  will  love  every 
part,  and,  above  all,  that  part  which  is  most  closely  allied  to 
ourselves.  Porphyry  was  quite  ready  to  admit  that  animals 
in  their  own  way  made  use  of  words,  and  he  mentions  Melampus 
and  Apollonius  as  among  the  philosophers  who  understood 
their  language. 

Neoplatonism  penetrated  into  the  early  church,  but  divested 
of  its  views  on  animal  destiny;  even  the  Catholic  neoplatonist 
Boethius,  though  he  was  sensitively  fond  of  animals  (witness 

vra  L7] 


THE   SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

his  lines  about  caged  birds),  yet  took  the  extreme  view  of  the 
hard  and  fast  Hne  of  separation,  as  may  be  seen  by  his  poem 
on  the  "downward  head,"  which  he  interpreted  to  indicate 
the  earth-bound  nature  of  all  flesh  save  man.  Birds,  by  the 
by,  and  even  fishes,  not  to  speak  of  camelopards,  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  a  "downward  head."  Meanwhile,  the  other 
manner  of  feeling,  if  not  of  thinking,  reasserted  its  power,  as 
it  always  will,  for  it  belongs  to  the  primal  things.  Excluded 
from  the  broad  road,  it  came  in  by  the  narrow  way — the  way 
that  leads  to  heaven.  In  the  wake  of  the  Christian  Guru  came 
a  whole  troop  of  charming  beasts,  little  less  saintly  and  miracu- 
lous than  their  holy  protectors,  and  thus  preachers  of  the  re- 
ligion of  love  were  spared  the  reproach  of  showing  an  all-un- 
loving face  toward  creatures  that  could  return  love  for  love 
as  well  as  most  and  better  than  many  of  the  human  kind.  The 
saint  saved  the  situation,  and  the  Church  wisely  let  him  alone 
to  discourse  to  his  brother  fishes  or  his  sister  turtle-doves, 
without  inquiring  about  the  strict  orthodoxy  of  the  proceeding.^ 

Unhappily  the  more  direct  inheritors  of  neoplatonist  dreams 
were  not  let  alone.  A  trend  of  tendency  toward  Pythagorean- 
ism  runs  through  their  different  developments  from  Philo  to 
the  Gnostics,  from  the  Gnostics,  through  the  Pauhcians,  to  the 
Albigenses.  It  passes  out  of  our  sight  when  these  were  sup- 
pressed in  the  thirteenth  century  by  the  most  sanguinary  perse- 
cution that  the  world  has  seen;  but  before  long  it  was  to  re- 
appear in  one  shape  or  another,  and  we  may  be  sure  that  the 
thread  was  never  wholly  lost. 

At  an  early  date,  in  the  heart  of  official  Catholicism,  an 
inconsistency  appeared  which  is  less  easily  explained  than 
homilies  composed  for  fishes  or  hymns  for  birds;  namely,  the 
strange  business  of  animal  prosecutions.  Without  inquiring 
exactly  what  an  animal  is,  it  is  easy  to  bestow  upon  it  either 
blessings  or  curses.  The  beautiful  rite  of  the  blessing  of  the 
beasts,  which  is  still  performed  once  a  year  in  many  places, 

1  It  is  the  common  impression  in  Rome  that  the  present  occupant  of 
the  Chair  of  St.  Peter  is  nearer  to  the  Saints  than  to  the  doctors ;  it  does 
not  cause  surprise,  therefore,  though  it  must  cause  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure,  to  find  him  recently  bestowing  his  blessing  "on  all  protectors 
of  animals  throughout  the  world. ' ' — C. 

VIII  [  8  1 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

involves  no  doctrinal  crux.     In  Corsica  the  priest  goes  up  to 
the  high  mountain  plateaux  v^here  the  animals  pasture  in  the 
summer,  and  after  saying  mass  in  presence  of  all  the  four- 
footed  family,  he  solemnly  blesses  them  and  exhorts  them  to 
prosper  and  multiply.     It  is  a  dehghtful  scene,  but  it  does  not 
affect  the  conception  of  the  moral  status  of  animals,  nor  v^ould 
that  conception  be  affected  by  a  right-down  malediction  or 
order  to  quit.     What,  however,  can  be  thought  of  a  regular 
trial  of  inconvenient  or  offending  animals,  in  which  great  care 
is  taken  to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  fair-play  to  the  defendants  ? 
Our  first  impression  is  that  it  must  be  an  elaborate  comedy; 
but  a  study  of  the  facts  makes  it  impossible  to  accept  this  theory. 
The  earliest  allusions  to  such  trials  that  seem  to  exist  belong 
to  the  ninth  century,  which  does  not  prove  that  they  were  the 
first  of  the  kind.     One  trial  took  place  in  824  a.d.     The  Coun- 
cil of  Worms  decided  in  868  that  if  a  man  has  been  killed  by 
bees  they  ought  to  suffer  death,  "but,"  added  the  judgment, 
"it   will  be  permissible  to  eat  their  honey."     A  rehc  of   the 
same  order  of  ideas  lingers  in  the  habit  some  people  have  of 
shooting  a  horse  which  has  caused  a  fatal  accident,  often  the 
direct  consequence  of  bad  riding  or  bad  driving.     The  earlier 
beast  trials  of  which  we  have  knowledge  were  conducted  by 
laymen,  the  later  by  ecclesiastics,  which  suggests  their  origin 
in  a  folk-practice.     A  good,  characteristic  instance  began  on 
September  5th,  1370.     The  young  son  of  a  Burgundian  swine- 
herd had  been  killed  by  three  sows  which  seemed  to  have  feared 
an  attack  on  one  of  their  young  ones.     All  members  of  the 
herd  were  arrested  as  accomplices,  which  was  a  serious  matter 
to  their  owners,  the  inmates  of  a  neighboring  convent,  as  the 
animals,  if  convicted,  would  be  burnt  and  their  ashes  buried. 
The  prior  pointed  out  that  three  sows  alone  were  guilty;  surely 
the  rest  of  the  pigs  ought  to  be  acquitted.     Justice  did  not 
move  quickly  in  those  times;    it  was  on  the  12th  September, 
1379,  that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  delivered  judgment;    only 
the  three  guilty  sows  and  one  young  pig  (what  had  it  done?) 
were  to  be  executed;   the  others  were  set  at  liberty,  ''notwith-  . 
standing  that  they  had  seen  the  death  of  the  boy  without  de- 
fending him."     Were  the  original  ones  all  alive  after  nine 
VIII  [  9  ] 


THE  SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

years  ?     If  so,  would  so  long  a  respite  have  been  granted  them 
had  no  legal  proceedings  been  instituted  ? 

An  important  trial  took  place  in  Savoy  in  the  year  1587. 
The  accused  was  a  certain  fly.  Two  suitable  advocates  were 
assigned  to  the  insects,  who  argued  on  their  behalf  that  these 
creatures  were  created  before  man,  and  had  been  blessed  by 
God  who  gave  them  the  right  to  feed  on  grass,  and  for  all  these 
and  other  good  reasons  the  flies  were  in  their  right  when  they 
occupied  the  vineyards  of  the  Commune;  they  simply  availed 
themselves  of  a  legitimate  privilege  conforming  to  divine  and 
natural  law.  The  plaintiffs'  advocate  retorted  that  the  Bible 
and  common  sense  showed  animals  to  be  created  for  the  utility 
of  man;  hence  they  could  not  have  the  right  to  cause  him  loss, 
to  which  the  counsel  for  the  insects  repUed  that  man  had  the 
right  to  command  animals,  no  doubt,  but  not  to  persecute, 
excommunicate,  and  interdict  them  when  they  were  merely  con- 
forming to  natural  law,  "which  is  eternal  and  immutable  like 
the  divine." 

The  judges  were  so  deeply  impressed  by  this  pleading  that, 
to  cut  the  case  short,  which  seemed  to  be  going  against  him 
the  Mayor  of  St.  Julien  hastened  to  propose  a  compromise; 
he  offered  a  piece  of  land  where  the  flies  might  fmd  a  safe  re- 
treat and  live  out  their  days  in  peace  and  plenty.  The  offer 
was  accepted.  On  June  29th,  1587,  the  citizens  of  St.  Julien 
were  bidden  to  the  market  square  by  ringing  the  church  bells, 
and  after  a  short  discussion  they  ratified  the  agreement,  which 
handed  over  a  large  piece  of  land  to  the  exclusive  use  of  the 
insects.  Hope  was  expressed  that  they  would  be  entirely  satis- 
fied with  the  bargain.  A  right  of  way  across  the  land  was, 
indeed,  reserved  to  the  pubHc,  but  no  harm  whatever  was  to 
be  done  to  the  flies  on  their  own  territory.  It  was  stated  in 
the  formal  contract  that  the  reservation  was  ceded  to  the  insects 
in  perpetuity. 

All  was  going  well,  when  it  transpired  that,  in  the  mean 
time,  the  flies'  advocates  had  paid  a  visit  to  that  much- vaunted 
piece  of  land,  and  when  they  returned  they  raised  the  strongest 
objection  to  it  on  the  score  that  it  was  arid,  sterile,  and  pro- 
duced nothing.  The  mayor's  counsel  disputed  this;  the  land, 
VIII  [  10  ] 


THE  SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

he  said,  produced  no  end  of  nice  small  trees  and  bushes,  the 
very  things  for  the  nutrition  of  insects.  The  judges  intervened 
by  ordering  a  survey  to  find  out  the  real  truth,  which  survey 
cost  three  florins.  There,  alas,  the  story  ends,  for  the  wind- 
ing up  of  the  affair  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  archives  of  St. 
Julien. 

Records  of  144  such  trials  have  come  to  light.  Of  the  two 
I  have  described,  it  will  be  remarked  that  one  belongs,  as  it 
were,  to  criminal  and  the  other  to  civil  law.  The  last  class  is 
the  most  curious.  No  doubt  the  trial  of  flies  or  locusts  was 
resorted  to  when  other  means  of  getting  rid  of  them  had  failed; 
it  was  hoped,  somehow,  that  the  elaborate  appearance  of  fair 
play  would  bring  about  a  result  not  to  be  obtained  by  violence. 
We  can  hardly  resist  the  inference  that  they  involved  some  sort 
of  recognition  or  intuition  of  animals'  rights  and  even  of  ani- 
mal intelligence. 

Afterward,  during  the  cruel  witch  mania,  not  a  few  cleverly 
trained  animals  were  put  to  death  on  suspicion  of  diabolical 
possession,  hke  Bankes'  horse,  ''^ Morocco,''^  whose  pretty  tricks 
were  mentioned  by  Shakespeare.  It  is  lucky  for  the  Prussian 
"  Hans  "  that  he  hves  in  a  more  enhghtened  age. 

In  the  dawn  of  modern  literature  animals  played  a  large, 
though  artificial,  part,  which  must  not  be  quite  ignored  on  ac- 
count of  its  artificiality,  because  in  the  Bestiaries,  as  in  the 
iEsopic  and  Oriental  fables  from  which  they  were  mainly  de- 
rived, there  was  an  inextricable  tangle  of  observations  of  the 
real  creature  and  arbitrary  ascription  to  him  of  human  quali- 
ties and  adventures.  At  last  they  became  a  mere  method  for 
attacking  poHtical  or  ecclesiastical  abuses,  but  their  great  popu- 
larity was  as  much  diie  to  their  outer  as  to  their  inner  sense. 
There  is  not  any  doubt  that  at  the  same  time  floods  of  Eastern 
fairy-tales  were  migrating  to  Europe,  and  in  these  the  most 
highly  appreciated  hero  was  always  the  friendly  beast.  In  a 
romance  of  the  thirteenth  century  called  Guillaume  de  Palerme, 
all  previous  marvels  of  this  kind  were  outdone  by  the  story 
of  a  Sicilian  prince  who  was  befriended  by  a  were-wolf ! 

It  is  not  generally  remembered  that  the  Indian  or  Buddhist 
view  of  animals  must  have  been  pretty  well  known  in  Europe 
VIII  [  II  ] 


THE   SOUL  IN   BEASTS 

at  least  as  early  as  the  fourteenth  century.  The  account  of 
the  monastery  "where  many  strange  beasts  of  divers  kinds  do 
live  upon  a  hill,"  which  Era  Odoric,  of  Pordenone,  dictated  in 
1330,  is  a  description,  both  accurate  and  charming,  of  a  Bud- 
dhist animal  refuge,  and  in  the  version  given  of  it  in  Mande- 
ville's  "Travels,"  if  not  in  the  original,  it  must  have  been  read 
by  nearly  every  one  who  could  read,  for  no  book  ever  had  so 
vast  a  diffusion  as  the  "Travels"  of  the  elusive  Knight  of  St. 
Albans. 

With  the  ItaHan  renaissance  came  the  full  modern  cesthetic 
enjoyment  of  animals — the  admiration  of  their  beauty  and 
perfection,  which  had  been  appreciated,  of  course,  long  before, 
but  not  quite  in  the  same  spirit.  The  all-round  gifted  Leo 
Battista  Alberti  in  the  fifteenth  century  took  the  same  criti- 
cal deHght  in  the  points  of  a  fine  animal  that  a  modern  expert 
would  take.  He  was  a  splendid  rider,  but  his  interest  was  not 
confined  to  horses;  his  love  for  his  dog  is  shown  by  his  having 
pronounced  a  funeral  oration  over  him. 

We  feel  that  with  such  men  humanity  toward  animals  was 
a  part  of  good  manners.  "We  owe  justice  to  men,"  said  the 
intensely  civiUzed  Montaigne,  "and  grace  and  benignity  to 
other  creatures  that  are  capable  of  it;  there  is  a  natural  com- 
merce and  mutual  obUgation  between  them  and  us."  Sir 
Arthur  Helps,  speaking  of  this,  called  it  "using  courtesy  to 
animals,"  and, when  one  comes  to  think  of  it, is  not  such  "cour- 
tesy" the  particular  mark  and  sign  of  a  man  of  good  breeding 
in  all  ages  ? 

The  Renaissance  brought  with  it  something  deeper  than  a 
wonderful  quickening  of  the  aesthetic  sense  in  all  directions; 
it  also  brought  that  spiritual  quickening  which  is  the  co-effi- 
cient of  every  really  upward  movement  of  the  human  mind. 
It  was  to  be  foreseen  that  animals  would  have  their  portion  of 
attention  in  the  ponderings  of  the  god-intoxicated  musers  on 
life  and  things  who  have  been  called  the  sceptics  of  the  Re- 
naissance. For  the  proof  that  they  did  receive  it  we  have  only 
to  turn  to  the  pages  of  Giordano  Bruno:  "Every  part  of  crea- 
tion has  its  share  in  being  and  cognition."  "There  is  a  differ- 
ence, not  in  quality,  but  in  quantity,  between  the  soul  of  man, 
VUI  [  12] 


THE  SOUL  IN   BEASTS 

the  animal,  and  the  plant."  "Among  horses,  elephants,  and 
dogs  there  are  single  individuals  which  appear  to  have  almost 
the  understanding  of  men."  "With  what  understanding  the 
ant  gnaws  her  grain  of  wheat  lest  it  should  sprout  in  her  under- 
ground habitations ! " 

Bruno's  prophetic  guess,  that  instinct  is  inherited  habit, 
might  have  saved  Descartes  (who  was  much  indebted  to  the 
Nolan)  from  giving  his  name  an  unenviable  immortality  in 
connection  with  the  theory  which  is  nearly  all  that  the  ignorant 
know  now  of  Cartesian  philosophy.  This  was  the  theory  that 
animals  are  automata,  a  sophism  that  may  be  said  to  have 
swept  Europe,  though  it  was  not  long  before  it  provoked  a  re- 
action. Descartes  got  this  idea  from  the  very  place  where  is 
was  likely  to  originate,  from  Spain.  A  certain  Gomez  Pereira 
advanced  it  before  Descartes  made  it  his  own,  which  even  led 
to  a  charge  of  plagiarism.  "Because  a  clock  marks  time  and 
a  bee  makes  honey,  we  are  to  consider  the  clock  and  the  bee 
to  be  machines.  Because  they  do  one  thing  better  than  man 
and  no  other  thing  so  well  as  man,  we  are  to  conclude  that 
they  have  no  mind,  but  that  Nature  acts  within  them,  holding 
their  organs  at  her  disposal."  "Nor  are  we  to  think,  as  the 
ancients  do,  that  animals  speak,  though  we  do  not  know  their 
language,  for,  if  that  were  so,  they,  having  several  organs  re- 
lated to  ours,  might  as  easily  communicate  with  us  as  with 
each  other." 

About  this,  Huxley  showed  that  an  almost  imperceptible 
imperfection  of  the  vocal  chord  may  prevent  articulated  sounds. 
Moreover,  the  click  of  the  bushman,  which  is  almost  his  only 
language,  is  exceedingly  like  the  sounds  made  by  monkeys. 

Language,  as  defined  by  an  eminent  Italian  man  of  science, 
Professor  Broca,  is  the  faculty  of  making  things  known  or  ex- 
pressing them  by  signs  or  sounds.  Much  the  same  definition 
was  given  by  Mivart,  and  if  there  be  a  better  one,  we  have  still 
to  wait  for  it.  Human  language  is  evolved;  at  one  time  man 
had  it  not.  The  babe  in  the  cradle  is  without  it;  the  deaf 
mute,  in  his  untaught  state,  is  without  it ;  ergo,  the  babe  and 
the  deaf  mute  cannot  feel.  Poor  babes  and  poor  deaf  mutes, 
should  the  scientific  Loyolas  of  the  future  adopt  this  view! 
VIII  [13] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

I  do  not  know  if  any  one  has  remarked  that  rural  and  primi- 
tive folk  can  never  bring  themselves  to  believe  of  any  foreign 
tongue  that  it  is  real  human  language  like  their  own.  To 
them  it  seems  a  jargon  of  meaningless  and  uncouth  sounds. 

Chanet,  a  follower  of  Descartes,  said  that  he  would  believe 
that  beasts  thought  when  a  beast  told  him  so.  By  what  cries 
of  pain,  by  what  looks  of  love,  have  not  beasts  told  men  that 
they  thought!  Man  himself  does  not  think  in  words  in  mo- 
ments of  profound  emotion,  whether  of  grief  or  joy.  He  cries 
out  or  he  acts.  Thought  in  its  absolutely  elementary  form  is 
action.  The  mother  thinks  in  the  kiss  she  gives  her  child. 
Perhaps  God  thinks  in  constellations.  I  asked  a  man  who 
had  saved  many  lives  by  jumping  into  the  sea,  "What  did  you 
think  of  at  the  moment  of  doing  it?"  He  repHed,  "You  do 
not  think,- or  you  might  not  do  it." 

The  whole  trend  of  philosophic  speculation  worthy  of  the 
name  lies  toward  unity,  but  the  Cartesian  theory  would  arbi- 
trarily divide  even  man's  physical  and  sensational  nature  from 
that  of  the  other  animals.  To  remedy  this,  Descartes  admitted 
that  man  was  just  as  much  an  automatic  machine  as  other  creat- 
ures. By  what  right  then  does  he  complain  when  he  happens 
to  have  a  toothache?  Because,  says  Descartes  triumphantly, 
man  has  an  immortal  soul!  The  child  thinks  in  his  mother's 
womb,  but  the  dog,  which  after  scenting  two  roads  takes  the 
third  without  demur,  sure  that  his  master  must  have  gone  that 
way,  this  dog  is  acting  "by  springs,"  and  neither  thinks  nor 
feels  at  all. 

The  misuse  of  the  ill-treated  word  "Nature"  cannot  hide 
the  fact  that  the  beginning,  middle,  and  end  of  Descartes'  argu- 
ment rests  on  a  perpetually  recurrent  miracle.  Descartes  con- 
fessed as  much  when  he  said  that  God  could  make  animals  as 
machines,  so  why  should  it  be  impossible  that  he  had  made  them 
as  machines?  Voltaire's  clear  reason  revolted  at  this  logic; 
he  declared  it  to  be  absurd  to  imagine  that  God  had  given 
animals  organs  of  feeling  in  order  that  they  might  not  feel.  He 
would  have  endorsed  Professor  Romanes'  saying  that  "the 
theory  of  animal  automatism  which  is  usually  attributed  to 
Descartes  can  never  be  accepted  by  common  sense." 
vin  [  14  ] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

On  the  other  hand,  while  Descartes  was  being  persecuted 
by  the  Church  for  opinions  which  he  did  not  hold,  this  par- 
ticular opinion  of  his  was  seized  upon  by  Catholic  divines  as 
a  vindication  of  creation.  Pascal  so  regarded  it.  The  miracu- 
lous element  in  it  did  not  disturb  him.  Malebranche  said 
that  though  opposed  by  reason  it  was  approved  by  faith. 

Descartes  said  that  the  idea  that  animals  think  and  feel  is 
a  relic  of  childhood.  The  idea  that  they  do  not  think  and  feel 
might  be  more  truly  called  a  relic  of  that  darkest  side  of  per- 
verse childhood,  the  existence  of  which  we  are  all  fain  to  forget. 
Whoever  has  seen  a  little  child  throwing  stones  at  a  toad  on 
the  highway — and  sad  because  his  hands  are  too  small  to  take 
up  the  bigger  stones  to  throw — will  understand  what  I  mean. 
I  do  not  wish  to  allude  more  than  shghtly  to  a  point  which  is 
of  too  much  importance  to  pass  over  in  silence.  Descartes 
was  a  vivisector;  so  were  the  pious  people  at  Port  Royal,  who 
embraced  his  teaching  with  enthusiasm  and  liked  to  hear  the 
howls  of  the  dogs  they  vivisected.  M.  Emile  Ferriere  in  his 
work  "L'ame  est  la  fonction  du  cerveau,"  sees  in  the  "soul" 
of  beasts  exactly  the  same  nature  as  in  the  "soul"  of  man;  the 
difference,  he  maintains,  is  one  of  degree;  thought  generally 
inferior,  it  is  sometimes  superior  to  "souls"  of  certain  human 
groups.  Here  is  a  candid  materialist  who  deserves  respect. 
But  there  is  a  school  of  physiologists  nowadays  which  carries 
on  an  unflagging  campaign  in  favor  of  belief  in  unconscious 
animal  machines  which  work  by  springs,  while  denying  that 
there  is  a  God  to  wind  up  the  springs,  and  in  conscious  human 
machines,  while  denying  that  there  is  a  soul,  independent  of 
matter,  which  might  account  for  the  difference.  "The  wish  is 
father  to  the  thought."     Non  ragionam  di  lor  ma  guar  da  e  passa. 

The  strongest  of  all  reasons  for  dismissing  the  machine 
theory  of  animals  is  their  variety  of  idiosyncrasy.  It  is  said 
that  to  the  shepherd  no  two  sheep  look  alike;  it  is  certain  that 
no  two  animals  of  any  kind  have  the  same  characters.  Some 
are  selfish,  some  are  unselfish,  some  are  gentle,  some  irretriev- 
ably ill-tempered  both  to  each  other  and  to  man.  Some  ani- 
mals do  not  show  much  regret  at  the  loss  of  their  offspring; 
with  others  it  is  manifestly  the  reverse.  Edouard  Quinet  de- 
vm  [  15  ] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

scribed  how  on  one  occasion,  when  visiting  the  Hons'  cage  in 
the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  he  observed  the  hon  gently  place  his 
large  paw  on  the  forehead  of  the  lioness,  and  so  they  remained, 
grave  and  still,  all  the  time  he  was  there.  He  asked  Geoffroy 
Saint-Hilaire,  who  was  with  him,  what  it  meant.  "Their  lion 
cub,"  was  the  answer,  "died  this  morning."  "Pity,  benevo- 
lence, sympathy,  could  be  read  on  those  rugged  faces."  That 
these  quaUties  are  often  absent  in  sentient  beings,  what  man 
can  doubt  ?  but  they  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  best  machine- 
made  animals  in  all  Nuremberg  1 

One  of  the  first  upholders  of  the  idea  of  legislative  protec- 
tion of  animals  was  Jeremy  Bentham,  who  asked  why  the  law 
should  refuse  its  protection  to  any  sensitive  being?  Most 
people  forget  the  degree  of  opposition  which  was  encountered 
by  the  earher  combatants  of  cruel  practices  and  pastimes  in 
England.  Cobbett  made  a  furious  attack  on  a  clergyman 
who,  to  his  honor,  was  agitating  for  the  suppression  of  bull- 
baiting,  "the  poor  man's  sport,"  as  Cobbett  called  it.  That 
it  demoralized  the  poor  man  as  well  as  tormented  the  bull 
never  entered  into  the  head  of  the  inimitable  wielder  of  English 
prose,  pure  and  undefiled,  who  took  it  under  his  (happily)  in- 
effectual protection.  Societies  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty 
to  animals  had,  in  their  day,  to  undergo  almost  as  much  criti- 
cism and  ridicule  in  England  as  they  now  meet  with  in  some 
parts  of  the  Continent.  Even  the  establishment  of  the  Dogs' 
Home  in  London  raised  a  storm  of  disapproval,  as  may  be  seen 
by  any  one  who  turns  over  the  files  of  the  Times  for  October, 
i860.  If  the  friends  of  humanity  persevere,  the  change  of 
sentiment  which  has  become  an  accomplished  fact  in  England, 
will  in  the  end  triumph  elsewhere. 

Unfortunately,  humane  sentiment,  and  especially  humane 
practice,  do  not  progress  on  a  level  Hne.  As  long  ago  as  1782 
an  English  writer  named  Soame  Jenyns  protested  against  the 
wickedness  of  shooting  a  bear  on  an  inaccessible  island  of  ice, 
or  an  eagle  on  the  mountain's  top.  "We  are  unable  to  give 
Hfe  and  therefore  ought  not  to  take  it  away  from  the  meanest 
insect  without  sufficient  reason."  What  would  he  say  if  he 
came  back  to  earth  to  find  whole  species  of  beautiful  winged 
VIII  [  16  ] 


THE   SOUL  IN  BEASTS 

creatures  being  destroyed  to  afford  a  more  or  less  barbarous 
ornament  for  women's  heads  ? 

The  "discovery"  of  Indian  literature  brought  prominently 
forward  in  the  West  the  Indian  ideas  of  animals  of  which  the 
old  travellers  had  given  the  earliest  news.  The  effect  of  famil- 
iarity with  those  ideas  may  be  traced  in  many  writers,  but  no- 
where to  such  an  extent  as  in  the  works  of  Schopenhauer,  for 
whom,  as  for  many  more  obscure  students,  they  formed  the 
most  attractive  and  interesting  part  of  Oriental  lore.  Schopen- 
hauer cannot  speak  about  animals  without  using  a  tone  of 
passionate  vehemence  which  was,  without  doubt,  genuine.  He 
felt  the  intense  enjoyment  in  observing  them  which  the  lonely 
soul  has  ever  felt,  whether  it  belonged  to  saint  or  sinner.  All 
his  pessimism  disappears  when  he  leaves  the  haunts  of  man 
for  the  retreats  of  beasts.  What  a  pleasure  it  is,  he  says,  to 
watch  a  wild  animal  going  about  undisturbed!  It  shows  us 
our  own  nature  in  a  simpler  and  more  sincere  form.  "There 
is  only  one  mendacious  being  in  the  world,  and  that  is  man. 
Every  other  is  true  and  sincere."  It  strikes  me  that  total  sin- 
cerity did  not  shine  on  the  face  of  a  dog  which  I  once  saw  trot- 
ting innocently  away,  after  burying  a  rabbit  he  had  caught  in 
a  ploughed  field,  near  a  tree  in  the  hedge — the  only  tree  there 
was — which  would  make  it  easy  for  him  to  identify  the  spot. 
But  about  that  I  will  say  no  more.  The  German  "Friend  of 
the  Creature"  was  indignant  at  "the  unpardonable  forget- 
fulness  in  which  the  lower  animals  have  hitherto  been  left  by 
the  moralists  of  Europe."  The  duty  of  protecting  them,  neg- 
lected by  religion,  falls  to  the  police.  Mankind  are  the  devils 
of  the  earth,  and  animals  the  souls  they  torment. 

Full  of  these  sentiments,  Schopenhauer  was  prepared  to  wel- 
come unconditionally  the  Indian  conception  of  the  Wheel  of 
Being  and  to  close  his  eyes  to  its  defects.  Strauss,  too,  hailed 
it  as  a  doctrine  which  "unites  the  whole  of  Nature  in  one  sacred 
and  mysterious  bond" — a  bond  in  which,  he  goes  on  to  say, 
a  breach  has  been  made  by  the  Judaism  and  Duahsm  of  Chris- 
tianity. He  might  have  observed  that  the  Church  derived  her 
notions  on  the  subject  rather  from  Aristotle  than  from  Semitic 
sources. 

VIII  [  17  ] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

Schopenhauer  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  ill-treatment 
of  animals  arose  directly  from  the  denial  to  them  of  immortahty, 
while  it  was  ascribed  to  men.  There  is  and  there  is  not  truth 
in  this.  When  all  is  said,  the  humane  man  always  was  and 
always  will  be  human;  "the  merciful  man  regardeth  the  life 
of  his  beast."  And  since  people  reason  to  fit  their  acts  rather 
than  act  to  fit  their  reasoning,  he  will  even  find  a  motive  for 
his  humanity  where  others  find  an  excuse  for  the  lack  of  it. 
Humphry  Primatt  wrote  in  1776:  "Cruelty  to  a  brute  is  an  in- 
jury irreparable  because  there  is  no  future  life  to  be  a  com- 
pensation for  present  afflictions." 

Mr.  Lecky,  in  his  "History  of  European  Morals,"  tells  of 
a  cardinal  who  let  himself  be  bitten  by  gnats  because  ''we  have 
heaven,  but  these  poor  creatures  only  present  enjoyment!" 
Could  Jaina  do  more  ? 

Strauss  thought  that  the  rising  tide  of  popular  sentiment 
about  animals  was  the  direct  result  of  the  abandonment  by 
science  of  the  spiritualistic  isolation  of  man  from  Nature.  I 
suspect  that  those  who  have  worked  hardest  for  animals  in  the 
last  half  century  cared  little  about  the  origin  of  species,  while 
it  is  certain  that  some  professed  evolutionists  have  been  their 
worst  foes.  The  fact  remains,  however,  that  by  every  rule  of 
logic  the  theory  of  evolution  ought  to  produce  the  effect  which 
Strauss  thought  that  it  had  produced.  The  discovery  which 
gives  its  name  to  the  nineteenth  century  revolutionizes  the 
whole  philosophic  conception  of  the  place  of  animals  in  the 
Universe. 

Lamarck,  whom  Cuvier  so  cruelly  attacked,  was  the  first 
to  discern  the  principle  of  evolution.  At  one  time  he  held  the 
Chair  of  Zoology  at  the  University  of  Paris;  but  the  opposition 
which  his  ideas  met  with  crushed  him  in  body,  though  not  in 
soul,  and  he  died  blind  and  in  want  in  1829,  only  consoled  by 
the  care  of  an  admirable  daughter.  His  last  words  are  said 
to  have  been  that  it  is  easier  to  discover  a  truth  than  to  convince 
others  of  it. 

An  ItaUan  named  Carlo  Lessona  was  one  of  the  first  to  be 
convinced.  He  wrote  a  work  containing  the  phrase,  "the  in- 
telligence of  animals" — which  work,  by  the  rule  then  in  force, 
VIII  [  18  ] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

had  to  be  presented  to  the  ecclesiastical  Censor  at  Turin  to 
receive  his  permit  before  publication.  The  canon  who  ex- 
amined the  book  fell  upon  the  words  above  mentioned,  and  re- 
marked, "This  expression,  'intelligence  of  animals,'  will  never 
do!"  "But,"  said  Lessona,  "it  is  commonly  used  in  natural 
history  books."  "Oh!"  replied  the  canon,  "natural  history 
has  much  need  of  revision." 

The  great  and  cautious  Darwin  said  that  the  senses,  intui- 
tions, emotions,  and  faculties,  such  as  love,  memory,  attention, 
curiosity,  imitation,  reason,  of  which  man  boasts,  may  be 
found  in  an  incipient  or  even  sometimes  in  a  well-developed 
condition,  in  the  lower  animals.  "Man,  with  all  his  noble 
qualities,  his  God-like  intellect,  still  bears  in  his  bodily  frame 
the  indelible  stamp  of  his  lowly  origin.  Our  brethren  fly  in 
the  air,  haunt  the  bushes,  and  swim  in  the  sea."  Darwin 
agreed  with  Agassiz  in  recognizing  in  the  dog  something  very 
like  the  human  conscience. 

Dr.  Arnold  said  that  the  whole  subject  of  the  brute  creation 
was  such  a  painful  mystery  that  he  dared  not  approach  it. 
Michelet  called  animal  life  a  "sombre  mystery,"  and  shuddered 
at  the  "daily  murder,"  hoping  that  in  another  globe  "these 
base  and  cruel  fatalities  may  be  spared  to  us."  It  is  strange 
to  find  how  many  men  of  very  different  types  have  wandered 
without  a  guide  in  these  dark  alleys  of  speculation.  A  few  of 
them  arrived  at,  or  thought  they  had  arrived  at,  a  solution. 
Lord  Chesterfield  wrote  that  "animals  preying  on  each  other 
is  a  law  of  Nature  which  we  did  not  make  and  which  we  cannot 
undo,  for  'if  I  do  not  eat  chickens  my  cat  will  eat  mice.'  "  But 
the  appeal  to  Nature  will  not  satisfy  every  one;  our  whole 
human  conscience  is  a  protest  against  Nature,  while  our  moral 
actions  are  an  attempt  to  effect  a  compromise.  Paley  pointed 
out  that  the  law  was  not  good,  since  we  could  live  without  ani- 
mal food,  and  wild  beasts  could  not.  He  offered  another  justi- 
fication, the  permission  of  Scripture.  This  was  satisfactory  to 
him,  but  he  must  have  been  aware  that  it  waives  the  question 
without  answering  it. 

Some  humane  people  nave  taKen  refuge  in  the   automata 
argument,  which  is  like  taking  a  sleeping-draught  to  cure  a 
VIII  [  19  ] 


THE   SOUL   IN   BEASTS 

broken  leg.     Others,  again,  look  for  justice  to  animals  in  the 

one  and  only  hope  that  man  possesses  of  justice  to  himself — in 

compensation  after  death  for  unmerited  suffering  in  this  Hfe. 

Leibnitz  said  that  Eternal  Justice  ought  to  compensate  animals 

for  their  misfortunes  on  earth.     It  is  curious  to  find  that  in  the 

seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  seven  or  eight  small  v^orks, 

written  in  Latin  in  support  of  this  thesis,  were  pubhshed  in 

Germany  and  Sweden.     Probably  in  all  the  world  a  number, 

unsuspectedly  large,  of  sensitive  minds  has  endorsed  the  belief 

expressed  so  well  in  the  lines  which  Southey  wrote  on  coming 

home  to  find  that  a  favorite  old  dog  had  been  ''destroyed" 

during  his  absence : 

Mine  is  no  narrow  creed ; 

And  He  who  gave  thee  being  did  not  frame 

The  mystery  of  hfe  to  be  the  sport 

Of  merciless  man !     There  is  another  world 

For  all  that  live  and  move — a  better  one ! 

Where  the  proud  bipeds,  who  would  fain  confine 

Infinite  Goodness  to  the  little  bounds 

Of  their  own  charity,  may  envy  thee ! 

The  holders  of  this  "no  narrow  creed"  start  with  all  the 
advantages  from  the  mere  point  of  view  of  dialectics.  They 
can  boast  that  they  have  placed  the  immortality  of  the  soul  on 
a  scientific  basis.  For  truly,  it  is  more  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  the  soul  is  natural  than  supernatural,  a  word  invented 
to  clothe  our  ignorance ;  and,  if  natural,  why  not  universal  ? 

They  have  the  right  to  say,  moreover,  that  they  and  they 
alone  have  "justified  the  ways  of  God."  They  alone  have 
admitted  all  creation  that  groaneth  and  travaileth  to  the  ulti- 
mate guerdon  of  the  "Love  that  moves  the  sun  and  other 
stars." 


VIII  [  20  ] 


IX 


THE  FAILURE  OF  EVOLUTION 

''HUMAN  SELECTION  AND  MARRIAGE" 

BY 

ALFRED   RUSSEL    WALLACE 


J  LFRED  RUSSEL  WALLACE,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.,  F.R.S., 

stands  to-day  as  the  jather  of  modern  science,  the  dean  oj 
living  scholars.  An  aged  man  oj  eighty -jour,  he  is  still  vigorous 
and  jull  oj  thought,  still  writing  jor  a  world  which  is  little  likely 
ever  to  jor  get  his  remarkable  entry  into  jame.  It  was  he  who,  at  the 
same  time  as  Darwin,  worked  out  the  theory  oj  the  survival  oj  the 
-fittest.  From  his  jar-ofj  exploring  station  in  the  Malayan  archi- 
pelago, Mr.  Wallace  sent  home  to  Darwin  an  essay  which  covered 
the  very  ground  upon  which  its  recipient  was  at  work.  Darwin 
made  public  both  his  own  work  and  Wallace'' s,  and  thus  the  two 
men  shone  jorth  as  twin  stars  oj  the  great  new  doctrine.  It  was 
around  Darwin  that  the  attack  and  dejence  oj  evolution  centred, 
and  doubtless  he  proved  himselj  the  greater  scientist  oj  the  two;  so 
that  the  jame  oj  the  dead  discoverer  has  justly  outshone  the  jame  oj 
the  one  still  living.  Yet  science  knows  jew  names  to  equal  that  oj 
Wallace. 

His  article  here  treats  the  startling  question  oj  the  jailure  oj  his 
famous  doctrine  to  apply  to  modern  conditions  oj  society,  and,  in 
consequence,  the  possible  retrogression  oj  human  lije  and  the  sur- 
vival oj  the  unfit.  The  danger  is  a  real  one;  it  has  drawn  wide 
attention  oj  late.  Modern  pity  and  charity  protect  the  jeeble; 
modern  war  and  competition  destroy  the  strong.  Mr.  Wallace 
finds  the  remedy  in  the  wisdom  oj  women,  in  the  marriage  customs 
oj  the  juture.     Whether  he  is  right  in  this  or  no,  he  makes  star- 

IX  [  I  ] 


THE   FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

tlingly  evident  the  jact  that  the  old  brute  law  oj  survival  has  ceased 
to  operate  upon  mankind. 

In  one  of  my  latest  conversations  with  Darwin  he  expressed 
himself  very  gloomily  on  the  future  of  humanity,  on  the  ground 
that  in  our  modern  civilization  natural  selection  had  no  play,  and 
the  fittest  did  not  survive.  Those  who  succeed  in  the  race  for 
wealth  are  by  no  means  the  best  or  the  most  intelhgent,  and  it  is 
notorious  that  our  population  is  more  largely  renewed  in  each 
generation  from  the  lower  than  from  the  middle  and  upper 
classes.  As  a  recent  American  writer  well  puts  it,  *'We  behold 
the  melancholy  spectacle  of  the  renewal  of  the  great  mass  of 
society  from  the  lowest  classes,  the  highest  classes  to  a  great  ex- 
tent either  not  marrying  or  not  having  children.  The  floating 
population  is  always  the  scum,  and  yet  the  stream  of  Uf  e  is  largely 
renewed  from  this  source.  Such  a  state  of  affairs,  sufficiently 
dangerous  in  any  society,  is  simply  suicidal  in  the  democratic 
civilization  of  our  day."  ^ 

That  the  check  to  progress  here  indicated  is  a  real  one  few 
will  deny,  and  the  problem  is  evidently  felt  to  be  one  of  vital  im- 
portance, since  it  has  attracted  the  attention  of  some  of  our  most 
thoughtful  writers,  and  has  quite  recently  furnished  the  theme 
for  a  perfect  flood  of  articles  in  our  best  periodicals.  I  propose 
here  to  consider  very  briefly  the  various  suggestions  made  by 
these  writers,  and  afterward  shall  endeavor  to  show  that,  when 
the  course  of  social  evolution  shall  have  led  to  a  more  rational 
organization  of  society,  the  problem  will  receive  its  final  solution 
by  the  action  of  physiological  and  social  agencies,  and  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  highest  interests  of  humanity. 

ARE  THE  RESULTS  OF  TRAINING  HEREDITARY? 

Before  discussing  the  question  itself  it  will  be  well  to  consider 
whether  there  are  in  fact  any  other  agencies  than  some  form  of 
selection  to  be  relied  on.  It  has  been  generally  accepted  hitherto 
that  such  beneficial  influences  as  education,  hygiene,  and  social 
refinement  had  a  cumulative  action,  and  would  of  themselves 
lead  to  a  steady  improvement  of  all  civilized  races.     This  view 

1  Hiram  M.  Stanley  in  the  Arena. 
IX  [2] 


THE   FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

rested  on  the  belief  that  whatever  improvement  was  effected  in 
individuals  was  transmitted  to  their  progeny,  and  that  it  would 
be  thus  possible  to  effect  a  continuous  advance  in  physical, 
moral,  and  intellectual  qualities  without  any  selection  of  the 
better  or  ehmination  of  the  inferior  types.  But  of  late  years 
grave  doubts  have  been  thrown  on  this  view,  owing  chiefly  to  the 
researches  of  Galton  and  Weismann  as  to  the  fundamental 
causes  to  which  heredity  is  due.  The  balance  of  opinion  among 
physiologists  now  seems  to  be  against  the  heredity  of  any  quali- 
ties acquired  by  the  individual  after  birth,  in  which  case  the 
question  we  are  discussing  will  be  much  simplified,  since  we 
shall  be  limited  to  some  form  of  selection  as  the  only  possible 
means  of  improving  the  race. 

In  order  to  make  the  difference  between  the  two  theories 
clear  to  those  who  may  not  have  followed  the  recent  discussions 
on  the  subject,  an  illustration  may  be  useful.  Let  us  suppose 
two  persons,  each  striving  to  produce  two  distinct  types  of  horse 
— the  cart-horse  and  the  racer — from  the  wild  prairie  horses  of 
America,  and  that  one  of  them  beheves  in  the  influence  of  food 
and  training,  the  other  in  selection.  Each  has  a  lot  of  a  hundred 
horses  to  begin  with,  as  nearly  as  possible  alike  in  quality.  The 
one  who  trusts  to  selection  at  once  divides  his  horses  into  two 
lots,  the  one  stronger  and  heavier,  the  other  lighter  and  more 
active,  and,  breeding  from  these,  continually  selects,  for  the 
parents  of  the  succeeding  generation,  those  which  most  nearly 
approach  the  two  types  required.  In  this  way  it  is  perfectly  cer- 
tain that  in  a  comparatively  short  period — thirty  or  forty  years 
perhaps — he  would  be  able  to  produce  two  very  distinct  forms, 
the  one  a  very  fair  racehorse,  the  other  an  equally  good  specimen 
of  a  cart-horse;  and  he  could  do  this  without  subjecting  the  two 
strains  to  any  difference  of  food  or  training,  since  it  is  by  selec- 
tion alone  that  our  various  breeds  of  domestic  animals  have  in 
most  cases  been  produced. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  person  who  undertook  to  produce 
similar  results  by  food  and  training  alone,  without  allowing 
selection  to  have  any  part  in  the  process,  would  have  to  act  in  a 
very  different  manner.  He  should  first  divide  his  horses  into 
two  lots  as  nearly  as  possible  identical  in  all  points,  and  there- 
IX  [3] 


THE   FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

after  subject  the  one  lot  to  daily  exercise  in  drawing  loads  at  a 
slow  pace,  the  other  lot  to  equally  constant  exercise  in  running, 
and  he  might  also  supply  them  with  different  kinds  of  food  if  he 
thought  it  calculated  to  aid  in  producing  the  required  effect.  In 
each  successive  generation  he  must  make  no  selection  of  the 
swiftest  or  the  strongest,  but  must  either  keep  the  whole  progeny 
of  each  lot,  or  carefully  choose  an  average  sample  of  each  to  be 
again  subjected  to  the  same  discipline.  It  is  quite  certain  that 
the  very  different  kinds  of  exercise  would  have  some  effect  on  the 
individuals  so  trained,  enlarging  and  strengthening  a  different  set 
of  muscles  in  each,  and  if  this  effect  were  transmitted  to  the  off- 
spring then  there  ought  to  be  in  this  case  also  a  steady  advance 
toward  the  racer  and  the  cart-horse  type.  Such  an  experiment, 
however,  has  never  been  tried,  and  we  cannot  therefore  say  posi- 
tively what  would  be  the  result ;  but  those  who  accept  the  theory 
of  the  non-heredity  of  acquired  characters  would  predict  with 
confidence  that  after  thirty  or  forty  generations  of  training  with- 
out selection,  the  last  two  lots  of  colts  would  have  made  little  or 
no  advance  toward  the  two  types  required,  but  would  be  practi- 
cally indistinguishable. 

It  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  find  any  actual  cases  to  illustrate 
this  point,  since  either  natural  or  artificial  selection  has  almost 
always  been  present.  The  apparent  effects  of  disuse  in  causing 
the  diminution  of  certain  organs,  such  as  the  reduced  wings  of 
some  birds  in  oceanic  islands  and  the  very  small  or  aborted  eyes 
of  some  of  the  animals  inhabiting  extensive  caverns,  can  be  as 
well  explained  by  the  withdrawal  of  the  cumulative  agency  of 
natural  selection  and  by  economy  of  growth,  as  by  the  direct 
effects  of  disuse.  The  following  facts,  however,  seem  to  show  that 
special  skill  derived  from  practice,  when  continued  for  several 
generations,  is  not  inherited,  and  does  not  therefore  tend  to  in- 
crease. The  wonderful  skill  of  most  of  the  North  American 
Indians  in  following  a  trail  by  indications  quite  imperceptible  to 
the  ordinary  European  has  been  dwelt  upon  by  many  writers, 
but  it  is  now  admitted  that  the  white  trappers  equal  and  often 
excel  them,  though  these  trappers  have  in  almost  every  case 
acquired  their  skill  in  a  comparatively  short  period,  without  any 
of  the  inherited  experience  supposed  to  belong  to  the  Indian. 
IX  [4] 


THE  FAILURE  OF  EVOLUTION 

Again,  for  many  generations  a  considerable  proportion  of  the 
male  population  of  Switzerland  has  practised  rifle- shooting  as  a 
national  sport,  yet  in  international  contests  they  show  no  marked 
superiority  over  our  riflemen,  who  are,  in  a  large  proportion,  the 
sons  of  men  who  never  handled  a  gun.  Another  case  is  afforded 
by  the  upper  classes  of  this  country  who  for  many  generations 
have  been  educated  at  the  universities,  and  have  had  their  classi- 
cal and  mathematical  abilities  developed  to  the  fullest  extent  by 
rivalry  for  honors.  Yet  now,  that  for  some  years  these  institu- 
tions have  been  opened  to  dissenters  whose  parents  usually  for 
many  generations  have  had  no  such  training,  it  is  found  that 
these  dissenters  carry  off  their  full  share  or  even  more  than  their 
share  of  honors.  We  thus  see  that  the  theory  of  the  non-heredity 
of  acquired  characters,  whether  physical  or  mental,  is  supported 
by  a  considerable  number  of  facts,  while  few  if  any  are  directly 
opposed  to  it.  We  therefore  propose  to  neglect  the  influence  of 
education  and  habit  as  possible  factors  in  the  improvement  of  our 
race,  and  to  confine  our  argument  entirely  to  the  possibility  of 
improvement  by  some  form  of  selection.^ 

PROPOSALS  FOR  THE  IMPROVEMENT  OF  THE  RACE 

Among  the  modern  writers  who  have  dealt  with  this  question 
the  opinions  of  Mr.  Galton  are  entitled  to  be  first  considered, 
because  he  has  studied  the  whole  subject  of  human  faculty  in  the 
most  thorough  manner,  and  has  perhaps  thrown  more  fight  upon 
it  than  any  other  writer.  The  method  of  selection  by  which  he 
has  suggested  that  our  race  may  be  improved  is  to  be  brought 
into  action  by  means  of  a  system  of  marks  for  family  merit,  both 
as  to  health,  intellect,  and  morals,  those  individuals  who  stand 
high  in  these  respects  being  encouraged  to  marry  early  by  state 
endowments  sufficient  to  enable  the  young  couples  to  make  a 
start  in  life.  Of  all  the  proposals  that  have  been  made  tending 
to  the  systematic  improvement  of  our  race,  this  is  one  of  the 
least  objectionable,  but  it  is  also  I  fear  among  the  least  effective. 
Its  tendency  would  undoubtedly  be  to  increase  the  number  and 
to  raise  the  standard  of  our  highest  and  best  men,  but  it  would  at 
the  same  time  leave  the  bulk  of  the  population  unaffected,  and 

^  Those  who  desire  more  information  on  this  subject  should  read 
Weismann's  Essays  on  Heredity. 

IX    .  [S] 


THE  FAILURE   OF  EVOLUTION 

would  but  slightly  diminish  the  rate  at  which  the  lower  types 
tend  to  supplant  or  to  take  the  place  of  the  higher.  What  we 
want  is,  not  a  higher  standard  of  perfection  in  the  few,  but  a 
higher  average,  and  this  can  best  be  produced  by  the  elimination 
of  the  lowest  of  all  and  a  free  intermingling  of  the  rest. 

Something  of  this  kind  is  proposed  by  Mr.  Hiram  M.  Stanley 
in  his  article  on  "Our  Civilization  and  the  Marriage  Problem," 
already  referred  to.  This  writer  believes  that  civilizations 
perish  because,  as  wealth  and  art  increase,  corruption  creeps  in, 
and  the  new  generations  fail  in  the  work  of  progress  because  the 
renewal  of  individuals  is  left  chiefly  to  the  unfit.  The  two  great 
factors  which  secure  perfection  in  each  animal  race — sexual 
selection  by  which  the  fit  are  born,  and  natural  selection  by 
which  the  fittest  survive — both  fail  in  the  case  of  mankind, 
among  whom  are  hosts  of  individuals  which  in  any  other  class  of 
beings  would  never  have  been  born,  or,  if  born,  would  never  sur- 
vive. He  argues  that,  unless  some  effective  measures  are  soon 
adopted  and  strictly  enforced,  our  case  will  be  irremediable;  and, 
since  natural  selection  fails  so  largely,  recourse  must  be  had  to 
artificial  selection.  "The  drunkard,  the  criminal,  the  diseased, 
the  morally  weak  should  never  come  into  society.  Not  reform, 
but  prevention,  should  be  the  cry.'^  The  method  by  which  this 
is  proposed  to  be  done  is  hinted  at  in  the  following  passages: 
"  In  the  true  golden  age,  which  lies  not  behind  but  before  us,  the 
privilege  of  parentage  will  be  esteemed  an  honor  for  the  com- 
paratively few,  and  no  child  will  be  born  who  is  not  only  sound  in 
body  and  mind,  but  also  above  the  average  as  to  natural  ability 
and  moral  force";  and  again,  "The  most  important  matter  in 
society,  the  inherent  quaUty  of  the  members  which  compose  it, 
should  be  regulated  by  trained  speciaUsts." 

Of  this  proposal  and  all  of  the  same  character  we  may  say 
that  nothing  can  possibly  be  more  objectionable,  even  if  we  ad- 
mit that  they  might  be  effectual  in  securing  the  object  aimed  at. 
But  even  this  is  more  than  doubtful;  and  it  is  quite  certain  that 
any  such  interference  with  personal  freedom  in  matters  so  deeply 
affecting  individual  happiness  will  never  be  adopted  by  the 
majority  of  any  nation,  or  if  adopted  would  never  be  submitted 
to  by  the  minority  without  a  lif  e-and-death  struggle. 
K  [6] 


THE   FAILURE  OF  EVOLUTION 

Another  popular  writer  of  the  greatest  abihty  and  originaHty, 
who  has  recently  given  us  his  solution  of  the  problem,  is  Mr. 
Grant  Allen.  His  suggestion  is  in  some  respects  the  very  re- 
verse of  the  last,  yet  it  is,  if  possible,  even  more  objectionable. 
Instead  of  any  interference  with  personal  freedom  he  proposes 
the  entire  abolition  of  legal  restrictions  as  to  marriage,  which  is 
to  be  a  free  contract,  to  last  only  so  long  as  either  party  desires. 
This  alone,  however,  would  have  no  effect  on  race-improvement, 
except  probably  a  prejudicial  one.  The  essential  part  of  his 
method  is  that  girls  should  be  taught,  both  by  direct  education 
and  by  the  influence  of  pubUc  opinion,  that  the  duty  of  all  healthy 
and  intellectual  women  is  to  be  mothers  of  as  many  and  as  per- 
fect children  as  possible.  For  this  purpose  they  are  recom- 
mended to  choose  as  temporary  husbands  the  finest,  healthiest, 
and  most  intellectual  men,  thus  insuring  a  variety  of  combina- 
tions of  parental  qualities  which  would  lead  to  the  production  of 
offspring  of  the  highest  possible  character  and  to  the  continual 
advancement  of  the  race.* 

I  think  I  have  fairly  summarized  the  essence  of  Mr.  Grant 
Allen's  proposal,  which,  though  enforced  with  all  his  Uterary 
skill  and  piquancy  of  illustration,  can,  in  my  opinion,  only  be 
fitly  described  by  the  term  already  apphed  to  it  by  one  of  his 
reviewers,  "detestable."  It  purports  to  be  advanced  in  the 
interests  of  the  children  and  of  the  race;  but  it  would  necessarily 
impair  that  family  life  and  parental  affection  which  are  the  prime 
essentials  to  the  well-being  of  children ;  while,  though  it  need  not 
necessarily  produce,  it  would  certainly  favor,  the  increase  of  pure 
sensualism,  the  most  degrading  and  most  fatal  of  all  the  quali- 
ties that  tend  to  the  deterioration  of  races  and  the  downfall  of 
nations.  One  of  the  modern  American  advocates  of  greater 
liberty  of  divorce,  in  the  interest  of  marriage  itself,  thus  admir- 
ably summarizes  the  essential  characteristics  and  purport  of  true 
marriage :  "  In  a  true  relation,  the  chief  object  is  the  loving  com- 
panionship of  man  and  woman,  their  capacity  for  mutual  help 
and  happiness,  and  for  the  development  of  all  that  is  noblest  in 
each  other.  The  second  object  is  the  building  up  a  home  and 
family,  a  place  of  rest,  peace,  security,  in  which  child-life  can 
^  See  The  Girl  of  the  Fttture  in  The  Universal  Review, 

IX  [7] 


THE  FAILURE   OF  EVOLUTION 

bud  and  blossom  like  flowers  in  the  sunshine."^  For  such  rest, 
peace,  and  security,  permanence  is  essential.  This  permanence 
need  not  be  attained  by  rigid  law,  but  by  the  influence  of  pubHc 
opinion,  and,  more  surely  still,  by  those  deep-seated  f  ecHngs  and 
emotions  which,  under  favorable  conditions,  render  the  marriage 
tie  stronger  and  its  influence  more  beneficial  the  longer  it  en- 
dures. To  me  it  appears  that  no  system  of  the  relations  of  men 
and  women  could  be  more  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  individuals, 
the  well-being  of  children,  or  the  advancement  of  the  race,  than 
that  proposed  by  Mr.  Grant  Allen. 

OBJECTIONS  TO  ALL  THE  PRECEDING  PROPOSALS 

Before  proceeding  further  with  the  main  question  it  is  neces- 
sary to  point  out  that,  besides  the  special  objections  to  each  of  the 
proposals  here  noticed,  there  is  a  general  and  fundamental  ob- 
jection. They  ah  attempt  to  deal  at  once,  and  by  direct  legisla- 
tive enactment,  with  the  most  important  and  most  vital  of  all 
human  relations,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  our  present  phase  of 
social  development  is  not  only  extremely  imperfect,  but  vicious 
and  rotten  at  the  core.  How  can  it  be  possible  to  determine  and 
settle  the  relations  of  women  to  men  which  shall  be  best  ahke  for 
individuals  and  for  the  race,  in  a  society  in  which  a  very  large 
proportion  of  women  are  obliged  to  work  long  hours  daily  for  the 
barest  subsistence,  while  another  large  proportion  are  forced  into 
more  or  less  uncongenial  marriages  as  the  only  means  of  securing 
some  amount  of  personal  independence  or  physical  well-being  ? 
Let  any  one  consider,  on  the  one  hand,  the  lives  of  the  wealthy  as 
portrayed  in  the  society  papers  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  terri- 
ble condition  of  millions  of  workers — men,  women,  and  children 
— and  the  still  more  awful  condition  of  those  who  seek  work  of 
any  kind  in  vain,  and,  seeing  their  children  slowly  dying  of 
starvation,  are  driven  in  utter  helplessness  and  despair  to  murder 
and  suicide.  Can  any  thoughtful  person  admit  for  a  moment 
that,  in  a  society  so  constituted  that  these  overwhelming  con- 
trasts of  luxury  and  privation  are  looked  upon  as  necessities,  and 
are  treated  by  the  Legislature  as  matters  with  which  it  has  prac- 
tically nothing  to  do,  there  is  the  smallest  probability  that  we  can 
1  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton,  in  the  Arena. 

IX  [8] 


THE   FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

deal  successfully  with  such  tremendous  social  problems  as  those 
which  involve  the  marriage  tie  and  the  family  relation  as  a  means 
of  promoting  the  physical  and  moral  advancement  of  the  race  ? 
What  a  mockery  to  still  further  whiten  the  sepulchre  of  modern 
society,  in  which  is  hidden  "all  manner  of  corruption,"  with 
schemes  for  the  moral  and  physical  advancement  of  the  race  I 

SOCIAL  ADVANCE  WILL  RESULT  IN  IMPROVEMENT  OF  CHARACTER 

It  is  my  firm  conviction,  for  reasons  which  I  shall  state  pres- 
ently, that,  when  we  have  cleansed  the  Augean  stable  of  our  ex- 
isting social  organization,  and  have  made  such  arrangements 
that  all  shall  contribute  their  share  of  either  physical  or  mental 
labor,  and  that  all  workers  shall  reap  the  jull  and  equal  reward  of 
their  work,  the  future  of  the  race  will  be  ensured  by  those  laws  of 
human  development  that  have  led  to  the  slow  but  continuous 
advance  in  the  higher  qualities  of  human  nature.  When  men 
and  women  are  alike  free  to  follow  their  best  impulses;  when 
idleness  and  vicious  or  useless  luxury  on  the  one  hand,  oppressive 
labor  and  starvation  on  the  other,  are  alike  unknown ;  when  all 
receive  the  best  and  most  thorough  education  that  the  state  of 
civilization  and  knowledge  at  the  time  will  admit;  when  the 
standard  of  public  opinion  is  set  by  the  wisest  and  the  best,  and 
that  standard  is  systematically  inculcated  on  the  young — then  we 
shall  find  that  a  system  of  selection  will  come  spontaneously  into 
action  which  will  steadily  tend  to  eliminate  the  lower  and  more 
degraded  types  of  man,  and  thus  continuously  raise  the  average 
standard  of  the  race.  I  therefore  strongly  protest  against  any 
attempt  to  deal  with  this  great  question  by  legal  enactments  in 
our  present  state  of  unfitness  and  ignorance,  or  by  endeavoring 
to  modify  public  opinion  as  to  the  beneficial  character  of  monog- 
amy and  permanence  in  marriage.  That  the  existing  popular 
opinion  is  the  true  one  is  well  and  briefly  shown  by  Miss  Chap- 
man in  LippincoWs  Magazine;  and  as  her  statement  of  the  case 
expresses  my  own  views,  and  will,  I  think,  be  approved  by  most 
thinkers  on  the  subject,  I  here  give  it : 

''  I.  Nature  plainly  indicates  permanent  marriage  as  the  true 
human  relation.     The  young  of  the  human  pair  need  parental 
care  and  supervision  for  a  great  number  of  years. 
IX  [9] 


THE   FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

''2.  Instinct  is  strongly  on  the  side  of  indissoluble  marriage. 
In  proportion  as  men  leave  briitedom  behind  and  enter  into  the 
fulness  of  their  human  heritage,  they  will  cease  to  tolerate  the 
idea  of  two  or  more  hving  partners. 

''3.  History  shows  conclusively  that  where  divorce  has  been 
easy,  licentiousness,  disorder,  and  often  complete  anarchy  have 
prevailed.  The  history  of  civihzation  is  the  history  of  advance 
in  monogamy,  of  the  fidelity  of  one  man  to  one  woman,  and  one 
woman  to  one  man. 

"4.  Science  tells  the  same  tale.  Physiology  and  Hygiene 
point  to  temperance,  not  riot.  Sociology  shows  how  man,  in 
spite  of  himself,  is  ever  striving,  through  lower  forms,  upward,  to 
the  monogamic  relation. 

"5.  Experience  demonstrates  to  every  one  of  us,  individually, 
the  superiority  of  the  indissoluble  marriage.  We  know  that, 
speaking  broadly,  marriages  turn  out  well  or  ill  in  proportion  as 
husband  and  wife  are — let  me  not  say  loving — but  loyal,  sinking 
differences  and  even  grievances  for  the  sake  of  children  and  for 
the  sake  of  example." 

We  have  now  to  consider  what  would  be  the  probable  effect 
of  a  condition  of  social  advancement,  the  essential  characteristics 
of  which  have  been  already  hinted  at,  on  the  two  great  problems 
— the  increase  of  population,  and  the  continuous  improvement  of 
the  race  by  some  form  of  selection  which  we  have  reason  to 
beHeve  is  the  only  method  available.  In  order  to  make  this 
clear,  however,  and  in  order  that  we  may  fully  reaHze  the  forces 
that  would  come  into  play  in  a  just  and  rational  state  of  society, 
such  as  may  certainly  be  realized  in  the  not  distant  future,  it  will 
be  necessary  to  have  a  clear  conception  of  its  main  character- 
istics. For  this  purpose,  and  without  committing  myself  in  any 
way  to  an  approval  of  all  the  details  of  his  scheme,  I  shall  make 
use  of  Mr.  Bellamy's  clear  and  forcible  picture  of  the  society  of 
the  future,  as  he  supposes  it  may  exist  in  America  in  little  more 
than  a  century  hence.^ 

The  essential  principle  on  which  society  is  supposed  to  be 
founded  is  that  of  a  great  family.  As  in  a  well-regulated  modern 
family  the  elders,  those  who  have  experience  of  the  labors,  the 

^Looking  Backward.    See  specially,  chapters  vii,  ix,  xii,  and  xxv. 
IX  [  10] 


THE   FAILURE  OF  EVOLUTION 

duties,  and  the  responsibilities  of  life,  determine  the  general 
mode  of  Hving  and  working,  with  the  fullest  consideration  for  the 
convenience  and  real  well-being  of  the  younger  members,  and 
with  a  recognition  of  their  essential  independence.  As  in  a 
family,  the  same  comforts  and  enjoyments  are  secured  to  all,  and 
the  very  idea  of  making  any  difference  in  this  respect,  to  those 
who  from  mental  or  physical  disabiHty  are  unable  to  do  so  much 
as  others,  never  occurs  to  any  one,  since  it  is  opposed  to  the  essen- 
tial principles  on  which  a  true  society  of  human  brotherhood  is 
held  to  rest.  As  regards  education  all  have  the  same  advan- 
tages, and  all  receive  the  fullest  and  best  training,  both  intellec- 
tual and  physical;  every  one  is  encouraged  to  follow  out  those 
studies  or  pursuits  for  which  they  are  best  fitted,  or  for  which 
they  exhibit  the  strongest  inchnation.  This  education,  the  com- 
plete and  thorough  training  for  a  hfe  of  usefulness  and  enjoy- 
ment, continues  in  both  sexes  till  the  age  of  twenty-one  (or  there- 
abouts), when  all  ahke,  men  and  women,  take  their  place  in  the 
lower  ranks  of  the  industrial  army  in  which  they  serve  for  three 
years.  During  the  latter  years  of  their  education,  and  during 
the  succeeding  three  years  of  industrial  service,  every  opportunity 
is  given  them  to  see  and  understand  every  kind  of  work  that  is 
carried  on  by  the  community,  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  term  of 
probation  they  can  choose  what  department  of  the  public  service 
they  prefer  to  enter.  As  every  one— men,  women,  and  children 
ahke — receive  the  same  amount  of  pubhc  credit — their  equal 
share  of  the  products  of  the  labor  of  the  community,  the  attrac- 
tiveness of  various  pursuits  is  equaHzed  by  differences  in  the 
hours  of  labor,  in  hohdays,  or  in  special  privileges  attached  to  the 
more  disagreeable  kinds  of  necessary  work,  and  these  are  so 
modified  from  time  to  time  that  the  volunteers  for  every  occupa- 
tion are  always  about  equal  to  its  requirements.  The  only  other 
essential  feature  that  it  is  necessary  to  notice  for  our  present  pur- 
pose is  the  system  of  grades,  by  which  good  conduct,  persever- 
ance, and  intelhgence  in  every  department  of  industry  and  occu- 
pation are  fully  recognized,  and  lead  to  appointments  as  foremen, 
superintendents,  or  general  managers,  and  ultimately  to  the 
highest  offices  of  the  state.  Every  one  of  these  grades  and  ap- 
pointments is  made  pubhc;  and  as  they  constitute  the  only 
IX  [ii] 


THE   FAILURE   OF  EVOLUTION 

honors  and  the  only  differences  of  rank,  with  corresponding  in- 
signia and  privileges,  in  an  otherwise  equal  body  of  citizens,  they 
are  highly  esteemed,  and  serve  as  ample  inducements  to  industry 
and  zeal  in  the  pubhc  service. 

At  first  sight  it  may  appear  that  in  any  state  of  society  whose 
essential  features  were  at  all  like  those  here  briefly  outhned,  all 
the  usual  restraints  to  early  marriage  as  they  now  exist  would  be 
removed,  and  that  a  rate  of  increase  of  the  population  unex- 
ampled in  any  previous  era  would  be  the  result,  leading  in  a  few 
generations  to  a  difficulty  in  obtaining  subsistence,  which  Mal- 
thus  has  shown  to  be  the  inevitable  result  of  the  normal  rate  of 
increase  of  mankind  when  all  the  positive  as  well  as  the  preven- 
tive checks  are  removed.  As  the  positive  checks — which  may  be 
briefly  summarized  as  war,  pestilence,  and  famine — are  sup- 
posed to  be  non-existent,  what,  it  may  be  asked,  are  the  preven- 
tive checks  which  are  suggested  as  being  capable  of  reducing  the 
rate  of  increase  within  manageable  hmits?  This  very  reason- 
able question  I  will  now  endeavor  to  answer. 

NATURAL  CHECKS  TO  RAPID  INCREASE 

The  first  and  most  important  of  the  checks  upon  a  too  rapid 
increase  of  population  will  be  the  comparatively  late  average 
period  of  marriage,  which  will  be  the  natural  result  of  the  very 
conditions  of  society,  and  will  besides  be  inculcated  during  the 
period  of  education,  and  still  further  enforced  by  pubhc  opinion. 
As  the  period  of  systematic  education  is  supposed  to  extend  to 
the  age  of  twenty-one,  up  to  which  time  both  the  mental  and 
physical  powers  will  be  trained  and  exercised  to  their  fullest 
capacity,  ths  idea  of  marriage  during  this  period  will  rarely  be 
entertained.  During  the  last  year  of  education,  however,  the 
subject  of  marriage  will  be  dwelt  upon,  in  its  bearing  on  individ- 
ual happiness  and  on  social  well-being,  in  relation  to  the  welfare 
of  the  next  generation  and  to  the  continuous  development  of  the 
race.  The  most  careful  and  dehberate  choice  of  partners  for 
life  will  be  inculcated  as  the  highest  social  duty ;  while  the  young 
women  will  be  so  trained  as  to  look  with  scorn  and  loathing  on  all 
men  who  in  any  way  wilfully  fail  in  their  duty  to  society — on 
idlers  and  malingerers,  on  drunkards  and  hars,  on  the  selfish,  the 

IX  [  12  ] 


THE   FAILURE   OF  EVOLUTION 

cruel,  or  the  vicious.  They  will  be  taught  that  the  happiness  of , 
their  whole  Hves  will  depend  on  the  care  and  dehberation  with 
which  they  choose  their  husbands,  and  they  will  be  urged  to 
accept  no  suitor  till  he  has  proved  himself  to  be  worthy  of  respect 
by  the  place  he  holds  and  the  character  he  bears  among  his 
fellow-laborers  in  the  pubHc  service. 

Under  social  conditions  which  render  every  woman  abso- 
lutely independent,  so  far  as  the  necessaries  and  comforts  of 
existence  are  concerned,  surrounded  by  the  charms  of  family  Hf e 
and  the  pleasures  of  society,  which  will  be  far  greater  than  any- 
thing we  now  realize  when  all  will  possess  the  refinements  de- 
rived from  the  best  possible  education,  and  all  will  be  reheved 
from  sordid  cares  and  the  struggle  for  mere  existence,  is  it  not  in 
the  highest  degree  probable  that  marriage  will  rarely  take  place 
till  the  woman  has  had  three  or  four  years'  experience  of  the 
world  after  leaving  college — that  is,  till  the  age  of  25,  while  it  will 
very  frequently  be  delayed  till  30  or  upward  ?  Now  Mr.  Galton 
has  shown,  from  the  best  statistics  available,  that  if  we  compare 
women  married  at  20  with  those  married  at  29,  the  proportionate 
fertihty  is  about  as  8  to  5.  But  this  difference,  large  as  it  is,  only 
represents  a  portion  of  the  effect  on  the  rate  of  increase  of  popu- 
lation caused  by  a  delay  in  the  average  period  of  marriage.  For 
when  the  age  of  marriage  is  delayed  the  time  between  successive 
generations  is  correspondingly  lengthened;  while  a  still  further 
effect  is  produced  by  the  fact  that  the  greater  the  average  age  of 
marriage  the  fewer  generations  are  ahve  at  the  same  time,  and  it 
is  the  combined  effect  of  these  three  factors  that  determines  the 
actual  rate  of  increase  of  the  population.^ 

But  there  is  yet  another  factor  tending  to  check  the  increase 
of  population  that  would  come  into  play  in  a  society  such  as  we 
have  been  considering.  In  a  remarkable  essay  on  the  Theory  of 
Population,  Herbert  Spencer  has  shown,  by  an  elaborate  discus- 
sion of  the  phenomena  presented  by  the  whole  animal  kingdom, 
that  the  maintenance  of  the  individual  and  the  propagation  of  the 
race  vary  inversely,  those  species  and  groups  which  have  the 
shortest  and  most  uncertain  hves  producing  the  greatest  number 

*  See  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty  and  Its  Development,  p.  321;  and 
Hereditary  Genius,  p.  353. 

IX  [  13  ] 


THE   FAILURE  OF  EVOLUTION 

of  offspring;  in  other  words,  individuation  and  reproduction  are 
antagonistic.  But  individuation  depends  almost  entirely  on  the 
development  and  specialization  of  the  nervous  system,  through 
which,  not  only  are  the  several  activities  and  co-ordinations  of 
the  various  organs  carried  on,  but  all  advance  in  instinct, 
emotion,  and  intellect  is  rendered  possible.  The  actual  rate  of 
increase  in  man  has  been  determined  by  the  necessities  of  the 
savage  state,  in  which,  as  in  most  animal  species,  it  has  usually 
been  only  just  sufficient  to  maintain  a  Hmited  average  popula- 
tion. But  with  civihzation  the  average  duration  of  life  increases 
and  the  possible  increase  of  population  under  favorable  condi- 
tions becomes  very  great,  because  fertihty  is  greater  than  is 
needed  under  the  new  conditions.  The  advance  in  civihzation 
as  regards  the  preservation  of  hf  e  has  in  recent  times  become  so 
rapid,  and  the  increased  development  of  the  nervous  system  has 
been  Hmited  to  so  small  a  portion  of  the  whole  population,  that 
no  general  diminution  in  fertihty  has  yet  occurred.  That  the 
facts  do,  however,  accord  with  the  theory  is  indicated  by  the 
common  observation  that  highly  intellectual  parents  do  not  as  a 
rule  have  large  families,  while  the  most  rapid  increase  occurs  in 
those  classes  which  are  engaged  in  the  simpler  kinds  of  manual 
labor.  But  in  a  state  of  society  in  which  all  will  have  their 
higher  faculties  fully  cultivated  and  fully  exercised  throughout 
life,  a  sHght  general  diminution  of  fertihty  would  at  once  arise, 
and  this  diminution  added  to  that  caused  by  the  later  average 
period  of  marriage  would  at  once  bring  the  rate  of  increase  of 
population  within  manageable  limits.  The  same  general  princi- 
ple enables  us  to  look  forward  to  that  distant  future  when  the 
world  will  be  fully  peopled,  in  perfect  confidence  that  an  equilib- 
rium between  the  birth  and  death  rates  will  then  be  brought 
about  by  a  combination  of  physical  and  social  agencies,  and  the 
bugbear  of  over-population  become  finally  extinct.* 

HOW  NATURAL  SELECTION  WILL  IMPROVE  THE  RACE 

There  now  only  remains  for  consideration  the  means  by 
which,  in  such  a  society,  a  continuous  improvement  of  the  race 

1  See  A  Theory  of  Population  deduced  from  the  General  Law  of  Animal 
Fertility. 

IX  [14] 


THE   FAILURE  OF  EVOLUTION 

could  be  brought  about,  on  the  assumption  that  for  this  purpose 
education  is  powerless  as  a  direct  agency,  since  its  effects  are  not 
hereditary,  and  that  some  form  of  selection  is  an  absolute  ne- 
cessity. This  improvement  I  believe  will  certainly  be  effected 
through  the  agency  of  female  choice  in  marriage.  Let  us,  there- 
fore, consider  how  this  would  probably  act. 

It  will  be  generally  admitted  that,  although  many  women  now 
remain  unmarried  from  necessity  rather  than  from  choice,  there 
are  always  a  considerable  number  who  feel  no  strong  inclination 
to  marriage,  and  who  accept  husbands  to  secure  a  subsistence  or 
a  home  of  their  own  rather  than  from  personal  affection  or 
sexual  emotion.  In  a  society  in  which  women  were  all  pecun- 
iarily independent,  were  all  fully  occupied  with  pubHc  duties  and 
intellectual  or  social  enjoyments,  and  had  nothing  to  gain  by 
marriage  as  regards  material  well-being,  we  may  be  sure  that  the 
number  of  the  unmarried  from  choice  would  largely  increase. 
It  would  probably  come  to  be  considered  a  degradation  for  any 
woman  to  marry  a  man  she  could  not  both  love  and  esteem,  and 
this  feehng  would  supply  ample  reasons  for  either  abstaining 
from  marriage  altogether  or  delaying  it  till  a  worthy  and  sympa- 
thetic husband  was  encountered.  In  man,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  passion  of  love  is  more  general,  and  usually  stronger;  and  as 
in  such  a  society  as  is  here  postulated  there  would  be  no  way  of 
gratifying  this  passion  but  by  marriage,  almost  every  woman 
would  receive  offers,  and  thus  a  powerful  selective  agency  would 
rest  with  the  female  sex.  Under  the  system  of  education  and  of 
pubHc  opinion  here  suggested  there  can  be  no  doubt  how  this  selec- 
tion would  be  exercised.  The  idle  and  the  selfish  would  be  almost 
universally  rejected.  The  diseased  or  the  weak  in  intellect  would 
also  usually  remain  unmarried ;  while  those  who  exhibited  any 
tendency  to  insanity  or  to  hereditary  disease,  or  who  possessed 
any  congenital  deformity  would  in  hardly  any  case  find  part- 
ners, because  it  would  be  considered  an  offence  against  society  to 
be  the  means  of  perpetuating  such  diseases  or  imperfections. 

We  must  also  take  into  account  a  special  factor  hitherto,  I 

believe,  unnoticed  in  this  connection,  that  would  in  all  proba- 

bihty  intensify  the  selection  thus  exercised.     It  is  well  known 

that  females  are  largely  in  excess  of  males  in  our  existing  popula- 

IX  [  15  ] 


THE   FAILURE   OF  EVOLUTION 

tion,  and  this  fact,  if  it  were  a  necessary  and  permanent  one, 
would  tend  to  weaken  the  selective  agency  of  women,  as  it  un- 
doubtedly does  now.  But  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  it 
will  not  be  a  permanent  feature  of  our  population.  The  births 
indicate  a  natural  tendency  in  the  opposite  direction,  since  they 
always  give  a  larger  proportion  of  males  than  females,  varying 
from  3J  to  4  per  cent.  But  boys  now  die  so  much  more  rapidly 
than  girls  that,  when  we  include  all  under  the  age  of  five  the 
numbers  are  nearly  equal.  For  the  next  five  years  the  mor- 
taHty  is  nearly  the  same  in  both  sexes;  then  that  of  females  pre- 
ponderates up  to  30  years  of  age,  then  up  to  60  that  of  men  is  the 
larger,  while  for  the  rest  of  fife  female  mortahty  is  again  greatest. 
The  general  result  is  that  at  the  ages  of  most  frequent  marriage — 
from  20  to  35 — females  are  between  8  and  9  per  cent,  in  excess  of 
males.  But  during  the  ages  from  5  to  35  we  find  a  wonderful 
excess  of  male  deaths  from  two  preventible  causes — "accident" 
and  ''violence."  For  a  recent  year  the  deaths  from  these  causes 
in  England  and  Wales  was  as  follows : — 

Males       (5  to  35  years) 4.158 

Females  (5  to  3  5  years) i ,  100 

Here  we  have  an  excess  of  male  over  female  deaths  in  one 
year  of  3,058,  all  between  the  ages  of  5  and  35,  a  very  large  por- 
tion of  which  is  no  doubt  due  to  the  greater  risks  run  by  men  and 
boys  in  various  industrial  occupations,  in  sport,  and  in  war.  In 
a  state  of  society  in  which  the  bulk  of  the  population  were  en- 
gaged in  industrial  work,  and  were  all  social  equals,  it  is  quite 
certain  that  almost  all  these  deaths  would  be  prevented,  thus 
bringing  the  male  population  more  nearly  to  an  equahty  with  the 
female.  But  there  are  also  many  unhealthy  employments  in 
which  men  are  exclusively  or  more  largely  engaged,  such  as  the 
grinders  of  Shefiicld,  and  many  others;  and  many  more  men 
have  their  Hves  shortened  by  labor  in  unventilated  workshops, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  loss  of  Hfe  at  sea  and  in  war.  When  the 
lives  of  all  its  citizens  are  accounted  of  equal  value  to  the  com- 
munity, no  one  will  be  allowed  to  suffer  from  such  preventible 
causes  as  these ;  and  this  will  still  further  reduce  the  mortahty  of 
men  as  compared  with  that  of  women.  On  the  whole,  then,  it 
seems  highly  probable  that  in  the  society  of  the  future  the  supe- 
IX  [  16  ] 


THE   FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

rior  numbers  of  males  at  birth  will  be  maintained  throughout  life, 
or,  at  all  events,  during  what  may  be  termed  the  marriageable 
period.  This  will  greatly  increase  the  influence  of  women  in  the 
improvement  of  the  race.  Being  a  minority  they  will  be  more 
sought  after,  and  will  have  a  real  choice  in  marriage,  which  is 
rarely  the  case  now.  This  actual  minority  being  further  in- 
creased by  those  who,  from  the  various  causes  already  referred 
to,  abstain  from  marriage,  will  cause  considerable  numbers  of 
men  to  remain  permanently  unmarried,  and  as  these  will  consist 
very  largely,  if  not  almost  wholly,  of  those  who  are  the  least  per- 
fectly developed  either  mentally  or  physically,  the  constant  ad- 
vance of  the  race  in  every  good  quahty  will  be  insured. 

This  method  of  improvement,  by  ehmination  of  the  worst, 
has  many  advantages  over  that  of  securing  the  early  marriages  of 
the  best.  In  the  first  place  it  is  the  direct  instead  of  the  indirect 
way,  for  it  is  more  important  and  more  beneficial  to  society  to 
improve  the  average  of  its  members  by  getting  rid  of  the  lowest 
types  than  by  raising  the  highest  a  little  higher.  Exceptionally 
great  and  good  men  are  always  produced  in  sufficient  numbers, 
and  have  always  been  so  produced  in  every  phase  of  civilization. 
We  do  not  need  more  of  these  so  much  as  we  need  less  of  the 
weak  and  the  bad.  This  weeding- out  system  has  been  the 
method  of  natural  selection,  by  which  the  animal  and  vegetable 
worlds  have  been  improved  and  developed.  The  survival  of  the 
fittest  is  really  the  extinction  of  the  unfit.  In  nature  this  occurs 
perpetually  on  an  enormous  scale,  because,  owing  to  the  rapid 
increase  of  most  organisms,  the  unfit  which  are  yearly  destroyed 
form  a  large  proportion  of  those  that  are  born.  Under  our 
hitherto  imperfect  civilization  this  wholesome  process  has  been 
checked  as  regards  mankind ;  but  the  check  has  been  the  result 
of  the  development  of  the  higher  attributes  of  our  nature. 
Humanity — the  essentially  human  emotion — has  caused  us  to 
save  the  lives  of  the  weak  and  suffering,  of  the  maimed  or  im- 
perfect in  mind  or  body.  This  has  to  some  extent  been  antago- 
nistic to  physical  and  even  intellectual  race-improvement ;  but  it 
has  improved  us  morally  by  the  continuous  development  of  the 
characteristic  and  crowning  grace  of  our  human  as  distinguished 
from  our  animal  nature. 

IX  [17] 


THE   FAILURE   OF   EVOLUTION 

In  the  society  of  the  future  this  defect  will  be  remedied,  not 
by  any  diminution  of  our  humanity,  but  by  encouraging  the  ac- 
tivity of  a  still  higher  human  characteristic — admiration  of  all 
that  is  beautiful  and  kindly  and  self-sacrificing,  repugnance  to 
all  that  is  selfish,  base,  or  cruel.  When  we  allow  ourselves  to  be 
guided  by  reason,  justice,  and  pubhc  spirit  in  our  dealings  with 
our  fellow-men,  and  determine  to  aboHsh  poverty  by  recognizing 
the  equal  rights  of  all  the  citizens  of  our  common  land  to  an 
equal  share  of  the  wealth  which  all  combine  to  produce — when 
we  have  thus  solved  the  lesser  problem  of  a  rational  social  organi- 
zation adapted  to  secure  the  equal  well-being  of  all,  then  we  may 
safely  leave  the  far  greater  and  deeper  problem  of  the  improve- 
ment of  the  race  to  the  cultivated  minds  and  pure  instincts  of  the 
men,  and  especially  of  the  Women  of  the  Future. 


IX  [iS] 


THE  LATEST  KNOWLEDGE 

SCIENTIFIC    INVESTIGATION    AND    PROGRESS" 


BY 

IRA  REMSEN 

PRESIDENT  OF  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY 


TTAVING  traced  the  thoughts  of  science  as  they  apply  to 
-"  man,  as  they  enable  us  to  understand  the  progress  and 
perhaps  the  origin  oj  our  race,  we  are  ready  now  to  turn  to  the 
latest  achievements  oj  the  investigators,  to  question  what  they 
are  doing  for  us  to-day,  and  what  they  hope  and  promise  to  do 
jor  us  to-morrow.  The  recent  developments  oj  science  have 
been,  as  we  all  know,  marvellous.  Has  it  ^'reached  its  term^^? 
Or  does  it  see  opening  bejore  it  a  juture  even  more  brilliant 
than  its  past  ?  To  guide  us  in  this  question,  we  need,  not  the 
vague  enthusiasm  oj  the  dreamer,  but  the  practical  analysis 
and  calm  judgment  oj  the  expert.  Let  us  therejore  seek  jor 
information  jrom  one  among  the  joremost  oj  our  American 
authorities. 

The  pllowing  address  was  delivered  by  President  Remsen 
bejore  the  American  Association  jor  the  Advancement  oj  Science, 
of  which  distinguished  body  he  was  made  president  in  igoj. 
Dr.  Remsen  has  been  projessor  oj  chemistry  at  Johns  Hopkins 
University  jor  over  thirty  years,  and  since  igo2  has  been  presi- 
dent oj  thai  celebrated  institution.  It  is  however  not  so  much 
to  his  high  official  position  as  to  his  valuable  research  work 
that  Dr.  Remsen  owes  his  noteworthy  place  among  the  leaders 
oj  modern  science, 

X  [I] 


THE   LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

At  the  weekly  services  of  many  of  our  churches  it  is  cus- 
tomary to  begin  with  the  reading  of  a  verse  or  two  from  the 
Scriptures  for  the  purpose,  I  suppose,  of  putting  the  congrega- 
tions in  the  proper  state  of  mind  for  the  exercises  which  are 
to  follow.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  may  profit  by  this  ex- 
ample, and  accordingly  I  ask  your  attention  to  Article  i  of 
the  Constitution  of  the  American  Association  for  the  Ad- 
vancement of  Science,  which  reads  thus:  "The  objects  of  the 
association  are,  by  periodical  and  migratory  meetings,  to  pro- 
mote intercourse  between  those  who  are  cultivating  science 
in  different  parts  of  America,  to  give  stronger  and  more  general 
impulse  and  more  systematic  direction  to  scientific  research, 
and  to  procure  for  the  labors  of  scientific  men  increased  fa- 
cihties  and  a  wider  usefulness." 

The  first  object  mentioned,  you  will  observe,  is  "to  pro- 
mote intercourse  between  those  who  are  cultivating  science 
in  different  parts  of  America";  the  second  is  "to  give  a  stronger 
and  more  general  impulse  and  more  systematic  direction  to 
scientific  research";  and  the  third  is  "to  procure  for  the 
labors  of  scientific  men  increased  facihties  and  a  wider  use- 
fulness." Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  history  of  the 
association  are  well  aware  that  it  has  served  its  purposes  ad- 
mirably, and  I  am  incHned  to  think  that  those  who  have  been 
in  the  habit  of  attending  its  meetings  will  agree  that  the  ob- 
ject which  appeals  to  them  most  strongly  is  the  promotion 
of  intercourse  between  those  who  are  cultivating  science. 
Given  this  intercourse  and  the  other  objects  will  be  reached 
as  a  necessary  consequence,  for  the  intercourse  stimulates 
thought,  and  thought  leads  to  work,  and  work  leads  to  wider 
usefulness. 

While  in  1848,  when  the  association  was  organized  and 
the  constitution  was  adopted,  there  was  a  fair  number  of  good 
scientific  investigators  in  this  country,  it  is  certain  that  in  the 
half-century  that  has  passed  since  then  the  number  of  inves- 
tigators has  increased  very  largely,  and  naturally  the  amount 
of  scientific  work  done  at  present  is  very  much  greater  than 
it  was  at  that  time.  So  great  has  been  the  increase  in  scien- 
tific activity  during  recent  years,  that  we  are  apt  to  think 
X  [2] 


THE   LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

that  by  comparison  scientific  research  is  a  new  acquisition. 
In  fact  there  appears  to  be  an  impression  abroad  that  in  the 
world  at  large  scientific  research  is  a  relatively  new  thing,  for 
which  we  of  this  generation  and  our  immediate  predecessors 
are  largely  responsible.  Only  a  superficial  knowledge  of  the 
history  of  science  is  necessary,  however,  to  show  that  the 
sciences  have  been  developed  slowly,  and  that  their  beginnings 
are  to  be  looked  for  in  the  very  earhest  times.  Everything 
seems  to  point  to  the  conclusion  that  men  have  been  always 
engaged  in  efforts  to  learn  more  and  more  in  regard  to  the 
world  in  which  they  find  themselves.  Sometimes  they  have 
been  guided  by  one  motive  and  sometimes  by  another,  but 
the  one  great  underlying  motive  has  been  the  desire  to  get 
a  clearer  and  clearer  understanding  of  the  universe.'  But 
besides  this  there  has  been  the  desire  to  find  means  of  in- 
creasing the  comfort  and  happiness  of  the  human  race. 

A  reference  to  the  history  of  chemistry  will  serve  to  show 
how  these  motives  have  operated  side  by  side.  One  of  the 
first  great  incentives  for  working  with  chemical  things  was 
the  thought  that  it  was  possible  to  convert  base  metals  Hke 
lead  and  copper  into  the  so-called  noble  metals,  silver  and 
gold.  Probably  no  idea  has  ever  operated  as  strongly  as  this 
upon  the  minds  of  men  to  lead  them  to  undertake  chemical 
experiments.  It  held  control  of  intellectual  men  for  cen- 
turies, and  it  was  not  until  about  a  hundred  years  ago  that 
it  lost  its  hold.  It  is  very  doubtful  if  the  purely  scientific 
question,  whether  one  form  of  matter  can  be  transformed  into 
another,  would  have  had  the  power  to  control  the  activities 
of  investigators  for  so  long  a  time;  and  it  is  idle  to  speculate 
upon  this  subject.  It  should,  however,  be  borne  in  mind 
that  many  of  those  who  were  engaged  in  this  work  were  ac- 
tuated by  a  desire  to  put  money  in  their  purses — a  desire 
that  is  by  no  means  to  be  condemned  without  reserve,  and 
I  mention  it  not  for  the  purpose  of  condemning  it,  but  to  show 
that  a  motive  that  we  sometimes  think  of  as  pecuHarly  modern 
is  among  the  oldest  known  to  man. 

While  the  alchemists  were  at  work  upon  their  problems, 
another  class  of  chemists  were  engaged  upon  problems  of 
X  [3] 


THE  LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

an  entirely  different  nature.  The  fact  that  substances  ob- 
tained from  various  natural  sources  and  others  made  in  the 
laboratory  produce  effects  of  various  kinds  when  taken  into 
the  system,  led  to  the  thought  that  these  substances  might 
be  useful  in  the  treatment  of  disease.  Then,  further,  it  was 
thought  that  disease  itself  is  a  chemical  phenomenon.  These 
thoughts,  as  is  evident,  furnish  strong  motives  for  the  inves- 
tigation of  chemical  substances,  and  the  science  of  chemistry 
owes  much  to  the  work  of  those  who  were  guided  by  these 
motives. 

And  so  in  each  period  as  a  new  thought  has  served  as 
the  guide  we  fmd  that  men  have  been  actuated  by  different 
motives,  and  often  one  and  the  same  worker  has  been  under 
the  influence  of  mixed  motives.     Only  in  a  few  cases  does  it 
appear   that   the   highest    motives   alone   operate.     We   must 
take  men  as  we  find  them,  and  we  may  be  thankful  that  on 
the  whole  there  are  so  many  who  are  impelled  by  one  mo- 
tive or  another,  or  by  a  mixture  of  motives  to  take  up  the 
work  of  investigating  the    world    in    which    we    hve.     Great 
progress  is  being  made  in  consequence  and  almost  dai^y  we 
are  called  upon  to  wonder  at  some  new  and  marvellous  re- 
sult of  scientific  investigation.     It  is  quite  impossible  to  make 
predictions  of  value  in  regard  to  what  is  likely  to  be  revealed 
to  us  by  continued  work,  but  it  is  safe  to  beheve  that  in  our 
efforts  to  discover  the  secrets  of  the  universe,  only  a  begin- 
ning has  been  made.     No  matter  in  what  direction  we  may 
look  we  are  aware  of  great  unexplored  territories,  and  even 
in  those  regions  in  which  the  greatest  advances  have  been 
made  it  is  evident  that  the  knowledge  gained  is  almost  in- 
significant as  compared  with  that  which  remains  to  be  learned. 
But  this  line  of  thought  may  lead  to  a  condition  bordering 
on  hopelessness  and  despondency,  and  surely  we  should  avoid 
this  condition,  for  there  is  much  greater  cause  for  rejoicing 
than  for   despair.     Our   successors   will   see   more,    and   see 
more  clearly  than  we  do,  just  as  we  see  more  and  see  more 
clearly  than  our  predecessors.     It  is  our  duty  to  keep  the 
work  going  without  being  too  anxious  to  weigh  the  results 
on  an  absolute  scale.     It  must  be  remembered  that  the  ab- 
X  [4] 


THE   LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

solute  scale  is  not  a  very  sensitive  instrument,   and  that  it 
requires  the  results  of  generations  to  affect  it  markedly. 

On  an  occasion  of  this  kind  it  seems  fair  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion, What  does  the  world  gain  by  scientific  investigation? 
This  question  has  often  been  asked  and  often  answered,  but 
each  answer  differs  in  some  respects  from  the  others,  and 
each  may  be  suggestive  and  worth  giving.  The  question  is 
a  profound  one,  and  no  answer  that  can  be  given  would  be 
satisfactory.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  the  resuhs  of 
scientific  investigation  fall  under  three  heads— the  material, 
the  intellectual,  and  the  ethical. 

The  material  results  are  the  most  obvious  and  they  nat- 
urally receive  the  most  attention.  The  material  wants  of  man 
are  the  first  to  receive  consideration.  They  can  not  be  neg- 
lected. He  must  have  food  and  clothing,  the  means  of  com- 
bating disease,  the  means  of  transportation,  the  means  of 
producing  heat,  and  a  great  variety  of  things  that  contribute 
to  his  bodily  comfort  and  gratify  his  aesthetic  desires.  It 
is  not  my  purpose  to  attempt  to  deal  with  all  of  these  and  to 
show  how  science  is  helping  to  work  out  the  problems  sug- 
gested. I  shall  have  to  content  myself  by  pointing  out  a  few 
of  the  more  important  problems,  the  solution  of  which  de- 
pends upon  the  prosecution  of  scientific  research. 

First,  the  food  problem.  Whatever  views  one  may  hold 
in  regard  to  that  which  has  come  to  be  called  "race  suicide," 
it  appears  that  the  population  of  the  world  is  increasing  rapidly. 
The  desirable  places  have  been  occupied.  In  some  parts  of 
the  earth  there  is  such  a  surplus  of  population  that  famines 
occur  from  time  to  tim.e,  and  in  other  parts  epidemics  and 
floods  relieve  the  embarrassment.  We  may  fairly  look  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  the  whole  earth  will  be  overpopulated, 
unless  the  production  of  food  becomes  more  scientific  than 
it  now  is.  Here  is  the  field  for  the  work  of  the  agricuhural 
chemist,  who  is  showing  us  how  to  increase  the  yield  from  a 
given  area,  and,  in  case  of  poor  and  worn-out  soils,  how  to 
preserve  and  increase  their  fertihty.  It  appears  that  the 
methods  of  cultivating  the  soil  are  still  comparatively  crude, 
and  more  and  more  thorough  investigation  of  the  processes 
X  [  5  ] 


THE   LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

involved  in  the  growth  of  plants  is  called  for.  Much  has 
been  learned  since  Liebig  founded  the  science  of  agricultural 
chemistry.  It  was  he  who  pointed  out  some  of  the  ways  by 
which  it  is  possible  to  increase  the  fertiHty  of  a  soil.  Since 
the  results  of  his  investigations  were  given  to  the  world,  the 
use  of  artificial  fertihzers  has  become  more  and  more  general. 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  know  that  artificial  fertihzers  are 
useful,  and  it  is  quite  another  thing  to  get  them.  At  first 
bone  dust  and  guano  were  chiefly  used.  Then  as  these  be- 
came dearer,  phosphates,  and  potassium  salts  from  the  mineral 
kingdom  came  into  use. 

At  the  Fifth  International  Congress  for  AppHed  Chemistry, 
held  at  Berhn,  Germany,  in  1903,  Dr.  Adolph  Frank,  of  Char- 
lottenburg,  gave  an  extremely  interesting  address  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  use  of  the  nitrogen  of  the  atmosphere  for  agricul- 
ture and  the  industries,  which  bears  upon  the  problem  that 
we  are  deahng  with.  Plants  must  have  nitrogen.  At  present 
this  is  obtained  from  the  great  beds  of  saltpetre  found  on  the 
west  coast  of  South  America — the  so-called  Chih  saltpetre — 
and  also  from  the  ammonia  abtained  as  a  by-product  in  the 
distillation  of  coal,  especially  in  the  manufacture  of  coke. 
The  use  of  Chih  saltpetre  for  agricultural  purposes  began 
about  i860.  In  1900  the  quantity  exported  was  1,453,000 
tons,  and  its  value  was  about  $60,000,000.  In  the  same  year 
the  world's  production  of  ammonium  sulphate  was  about 
500,000  tons,  of  a  value  of  somewhat  more  than  $20,000,000. 
Of  these  enormous  quantities  about  three-quarters  finds  ap- 
phcation  in  agriculture.  The  use  of  these  substances,  espe- 
cially of  saltpetre,  is  increasing  rapidly.  At  present  it  seems 
that  the  successful  cultivation  of  the  soil  is  dependent  upon 
the  use  of  nitrates,  and  the  supply  of  nitrates  is  hmitcd.  Un- 
less something  is  done  we  may  look  forward  to  the  time  when 
the  earth,  for  lack  of  proper  fertihzers,  will  not  be  able  to 
produce  as  much  as  it  now  does,  and  meanwhile  the  demand 
for  food  is  increasing.  According  to  the  most  reliable  esti- 
mations, indeed,  the  sakpetre  beds  will  be  exhausted  in  thirty 
or  forty  years.  Is  there  a  way  out?  Dr.  Frank  shows  that 
there  is.  In  the  air  there  is  nitrogen  for  all.  The  plants 
X  [6] 


THE  LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

can  make  only  a  limited  use  of  this  directly.  For  the  most 
part  it  must  be  in  some  form  of  chemical  combination,  as,  for 
example,  a  nitrate  of  ammonia.  The  conversion  of  atmos- 
pheric nitrogen  into  nitric  acid  would  solve  the  problem,  and 
this  is  now  carried  out.  But  Dr.  Frank  shows  that  there  is 
another,  perhaps  more  economical,  way  of  getting  the  nitro- 
gen into  a  form  suitable  for  plant  food.  Calcium  carbide 
can  now  be  made  without  difficulty,  and  is  made  in  enormous 
quantities  by  the  action  of  a  powerful  electric  current  upon 
a  mixture  of  coal  and  hme.  This  substance  has  the  power 
of  absorbing  nitrogen  from  the  air,  and  the  product  thus  formed 
appears  to  be  capable  of  giving  up  its  nitrogen  to  plants,  or, 
in  other  words,  to  be  a  good  fertihzer.  It  is  true  that  this 
subject  requires  further  investigation,  but  the  results  thus  far 
obtained  are  full  of  promise.  If  the  outcome  should  be  what 
we  have  reason  to  hope,  we  may  regard  the  approaching  ex- 
haustion of  the  saltpetre  beds  with  equanimity.  But,  even 
without  this  to  pin  our  faith  to,  we  have  the  preparation  of 
nitric  acid  from  the  nitrogen  and  oxygen  of  the  air  to  fall 
back  upon. 

While  speaking  of  the  food  problem,  a  few  words  in  re- 
gard to  the  artificial  preparation  of  foodstuffs.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  there  is  not  much  of  promise  to  report  upon  in  this 
connection.  In  spite  of  the  brilHant  achievements  of  chemists 
in  the  field  of  synthesis,  it  remains  true  that  thus  far  they 
have  not  been  able  to  make,  except  in  very  small  quantities, 
substances  that  are  useful  as  foods,  and  there  is  absolutely 
no  prospect  of  this  result  being  reached  within  a  reasonable 
time.  A  few  years  ago  Berthelot  told  us  of  a  dream  he  had 
had.  This  has  to  do  with  the  results  that,  according  to  Ber- 
thelot, are  to  be  brought  about  by  the  advance  of  chemistry. 
The  results  of  investigations  already  accompHshed  indicate 
that,  in  the  future,  methods  will  perhaps  be  devised  for  the 
artificial  preparation  of  food  from  the  water  and  carbonic 
acid  so  abundantly  suppHed  by  nature.  Agriculture  will 
then  become  unnecessary,  and  the  landscape  will  not  be  dis- 
figured by  crops  growing  in  geometrical  figures.  Water  will 
be  obtained  from  holes  three  or  four  miles  deep  in  the  earth, 
X  [7] 


THE  LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

and  this  water  will  be  above  the  boihng  temperature,  so  that 
it  can  be  used  as  a  source  of  energy.  It  will  be  obtained  in 
liquid  form  after  it  has  undergone  a  process  of  natural  dis- 
tillation, which  will  free  it  from  all  impurities,  including,  of 
course,  disease  germs.  The  foods  prepared  by  artificial  meth- 
ods will  also  be  free  from  microbes,  and  there  will  be,  conse- 
quently, less  disease  than  at  present.  Further,  the  necessity 
for  killing  animals  for  food  will  no  longer  exist,  and  man- 
Idnd  will  become  gentler  and  more  amenable  to  higher  in- 
fluences. There  is,  no  doubt,  much  that  is  fascinating  in 
this  hne  of  thought,  but  whether  it  is  worth  following,  de- 
pends upon  the  fundamental  assumption.  Is  it  at  all  prob- 
able that  chemists  will  ever  be  able  to  devise  methods  for  the 
artificial  preparation  of  foodstuffs?  I  can  only  say  that  to 
me  it  does  not  appear  probable  in  the  Hght  of  the  results  thus 
far  obtained.  I  do  not  mean  to  question  the  probability  of 
the  ultimate  synthesis  of  some  of  those  substances  that  are 
of  value  as  foods.  This  has  been  already  accompHshed  on 
a  small  scale,  but  for  the  most  part  the  synthetical  processes 
employed  have  involved  the  use  of  substances  which  them- 
selves are  the  products  of  natural  processes.  Thus,  the  fats 
can  be  made,  but  the  substances  from  which  they  are  made 
are  generally  obtained  from  nature  and  are  not  themselves 
synthetical  products.  Emil  Fischer  has,  to  be  sure,  made 
very  small  quantities  of  sugars  of  different  kinds,  but  the  task 
of  building  up  a  sugar  from  the  raw  material  furnished  by 
nature — that  is  to  say,  from  carbonic  acid  and  water — pre- 
sents such  difficulties  that  it  may  be  said  to  be  practically  im- 
possible. 

When  it  comes  to  starch,  and  the  proteids  which  are  the 
other  chief  constituents  of  foodstuffs,  the  difficulties  are  still 
greater.  There  is  not  a  suggestion  of  the  possibiHty  of  making 
starch  artificially,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  proteids.  In 
this  connection  it  is,  however,  interesting  to  note  that  Emil 
Fischer,  after  his  remarkable  successes  in  the  sugar  group 
and  the  uric-acid  group,  is  now  advancing  upon  the  proteids. 
I  have  heard  it  said  that  at  the  beginning  of  his  career  he  made 
out  a  programme  for  his  Hf ework.  This  included  the  solution 
X  [8] 


THE  LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

of  three  great  problems.  These  are  the  determination  of  the 
constitution  of  uric  acid,  of  the  sugars,  and  of  the  proteids. 
Two  of  these  problems  have  been  solved.  May  he  be  equally 
successful  with  the  third!  Even  if  we  should  be  able  to  make 
a  proteid,  and  show  what  it  is,  the  problem  of  the  artificial 
preparation  of  foodstuffs  will  not  be  solved.  Indeed,  it  will 
hardly  be  affected. 

Although  science  is  not  hkely,  within  periods  that  we  may 
venture  to  think  of,  to  do  away  with  the  necessity  of  cultivat- 
ing the  soil,  it  is  Hkely  to  teach  us  how  to  get  more  out  of  the 
soil  than  we  now  do,  and  thus  put  us  in  a  position  to  provide 
for  the  generations  that  are  to  follow  us.  And  this  carries 
with  it  the  thought  that,  unless  scientific  investigation  is  kept 
up,  these  coming  generations  will  be  unprovided  for. 

Another  way  by  which  the  food  supply  of  the  world  can 
be  increased  is  by  reheving  tracts  of  land  that  are  now  used 
for  other  purposes  than  the  cultivation  of  foodstuffs.  The 
most  interesting  example  of  this  kind  is  that  presented  by  the 
cultivation  of  indigo.  There  is  a  large  demand  for  this  sub- 
stance, which  is  plainly  founded  upon  aesthetic  desires  of  a 
somewhat  rudimentary  kind.  Whatever  the  cause  may  be, 
the  demand  exists,  and  immense  tracts  of  land  have  been  and 
are  still,  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  the  indigo  plant.  Within 
the  past  few  years  scientific  investigation  has  shown  that  in- 
digo can  be  made  in  the  factory  from  substances,  the  pro- 
duction of  which  does  not  for  the  most  part  involve  the  culti- 
vation of  the  soil.  In  1900,  according  to  the  report  of  Dr. 
Brunck,  managing  director  of  the  Badische  AniHn-  und  Soda- 
Fabrik,  the  quantity  of  indigo  produced  annually  in  the  fac- 
tory would,  if  grown  from  plants,  ''require  the  cultivation  of 
an  area  of  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  milhon  acres  of  land  (390 
square  miles)  in  the  home  of  the  indigo  plant  (India)."  Dr. 
Brunck  adds:  "The  first  impression  which  this  fact  may  be 
likely  to  produce  is  that  the  manufacture  of  indigo  will  cause 
a  terrible  calamity  to  arise  in  that  country;  but,  perhaps  not. 
If  one  recalls  to  mind  that  India  is  periodically  afflicted  with 
famine,  one  ought  not,  without  further  consideration,  to  cast 
aside  the  hope  that  it  might  be  good  fortune  for  that  country 
X  [9] 


THE  LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

if  the  immense  areas  now  devoted  to  a  crop  which  is  subjtcl 
to  many  vicissitudes  and  to  violent  market  changes,  were  at 
last  to  be  given  over  to  the  raising  of  breadstuffs  and  other 
food  products."  "For  myself,"  says  Dr.  Brunck,  "I  no  not 
assume  to  be  an  impartial  adviser  in  this  matter,  but,  never- 
theless, I  venture  to  express  my  convictions  that  the  govern- 
ment of  India  will  be  rendering  a  very  great  service  if  it  should 
support  and  aid  the  progress,  which  will  in  any  case  be  irre- 
sistible, of  this  impending  change  in  the  cultivation  of  that 
country,  and  would  support  and  direct  its  methodical  and 
rational  execution." 

The  connection  between  scientific  investigation  and  health 
is  so  frequently  the  subject  of  discussion  that  I  need  not  dwell 
upon  it  here.  The  discovery  that  many  diseases  are  due 
primarily  to  the  action  of  microscopic  organisms  that  find 
their  way  into  the  body  and  produce  the  changes  that  reveal 
themselves  in  definite  symptoms,  is  a  direct  consequence  of 
the  study  of  the  phenomenon  of  alcohoHc  fermentation  by 
Pasteur.  Everything  that  throws  Hght  upon  the  nature  of 
the  actions  of  these  microscopic  organisms  is  of  value  in  deal- 
ing with  the  great  problem  of  combating  disease.  It  has  been 
established  in  a  number  of  cases  that  they  cause  the  forma- 
tion of  products  that  act  as  poisons  and  that  the  diseases  are 
due  to  the  action  of  these  poisons.  So  also,  as  is  well  known, 
investigation  has  shown  that  antidotes  to  some  of  these  poisons 
can  be  produced,  and  that  by  means  of  these  antidotes  the 
diseases  can  be  controlled.  But  more  important  than  this, 
is  the  discovery  of  the  way  in  which  diseases  are  transmitted. 
With  this  knowledge  it  is  possible  to  prevent  the  diseases. 
The  great  fact  that  the  death  rate  is  decreasing  stands  out 
prominently  and  proclaims  to  humanity  the  importance  of 
scientific  investigation.  It  is,  however,  to  be  noted  in  this 
connection  that  the  decrease  in  the  death  rate  compensates 
to  some  extent  for  the  decrease  in  the  birth  rate,  and  that,  if 
an  increase  in  population  is  a  thing  to  be  desired,  the  investi- 
gations in  the  field  of  sanitary  science  are  contributing  to  this 
result. 

The  development  of  the  human  race  is  dependent  not  alone 
X  [lo] 


THE  LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

upon  a  supply  of  food,  but  upon  a  supply  of  energy  in  available 
forms.  Heat  and  mechanical  energy  are  absolutely  essential 
to  man.  The  chief  source  of  the  energy  that  comes  into  play 
is  fuel.  We  are  primarily  dependent  upon  the  coal  supply 
for  the  continuation  of  the  activities  of  man.  Without  this, 
unless  something  is  to  take  its  place,  man  is  doomed.  Sta- 
tistics in  regard  to  the  coal  supply  and  the  rate  at  which  it  is 
being  used  have  so  frequently  been  presented  by  those  who 
have  special  knowledge  of  this  subject,  that  I  need  not  trouble 
you  with  them  now.  The  only  object  in  referring  to  it  is  to 
show  that,  unless  by  means  of  scientific  investigation  man  is 
taught  new  methods  of  rendering  the  world's  store  of  energy 
available  for  the  production  of  heat  and  of  motion,  the  age  of 
the  human  race  is  measured  by  the  extent  of  the  supply  of 
coal  and  other  forms  of  fuel.  By  other  forms  of  fuel  I  mean, 
of  course,  wood  and  oil.  Plainly,  as  the  demand  for  land  for 
the  production  of  foodstuffs  increases,  the  amount  available 
for  the  production  of  wood  must  decrease,  so  that  wood  need 
not  be  taken  into  account  for  the  future.  In  regard  to  oil, 
our  knowledge  is  not  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  make  predictions 
of  any  value.  If  one  of  the  theories  now  held  in  regard  to  the 
source  of  petroleum  should  prove  to  be  correct,  the  world  would 
find  much  consolation  in  it.  According  to  this  theory  petroleum 
is  not  likely  to  be  exhausted,  for  it  is  constantly  being  formed 
by  the  action  of  water  upon  carbides  that  in  all  probability 
exist  in  practically  unlimited  quantity  in  the  interior  of  the 
earth.  If  this  be  true,  then  the  problem  of  supplying  energy 
may  be  reduced  to  one  of  transportation  of  oil.  But  given 
a  supply  of  oil  and,  of  course,  the  problem  of  transportation 
is  solved. 

What  are  the  other  sources  of  practical  energy?  The 
most  important  is  the  fall  of  water.  This  is  being  utilized 
more  and  more  year  by  year,  since  the  methods  of  producing 
electric  currents  by  means  of  the  dynamo  have  been  worked 
out.  There  is  plainly  much  to  be  learned  before  the  energy 
made  available  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  water- 
fall can  be  transported  long  distances  economically,  but  ad- 
vances are  being  made  in  this  line,  and  already  factories  that 

X  [II] 


THE  LATEST  KNOWLEDGE 

have  hitherto  been  dependent  upon  coal  are  making  use  of 
the  energy  derived  from  waterfalls.  The  more  rapidly  these 
advances  take  place  the  less  will  be  the  demand  for  coal,  and 
if  there  were  enough  waterfalls  conveniently  situated,  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  in  furnishing  all  the  energy  needed  by 
man  for  heat  or  for  motion. 

It  is  a  fortunate  thing  that,  as  the  population  of  the  earth 
increases,  man's  tastes  become  more  complex.     If  only  the 
simplest  tastes  prevailed,  only  the  simplest  occupations  would 
be  called  for.     But  let  us  not  lose  time  in  idle  speculations  as 
to  the  way  this  primitive  condition  of  things  would  affect  man's 
progress.     As  a  matter  of  fact  his  tastes  are  becoming  more 
complex.     Things  that  are  not  dreamed  of  in  one  generation 
become  the  necessities  of  the  next  generation.     Many  of  these 
things  are  the  direct  results  of  scientific  investigation.     No 
end   of   examples   will   suggest   themselves.     Let  me   content 
myself  by  reference  to  one  that  has  of  late  been  the  subject 
of  much  discussion.     The  development  of  the  artificial  dye- 
stuff  industries  is  extremely  instructive  in  many  ways.     The 
development  has  been  the  direct  result  of  the  scientific  in- 
vestigation of  things  that  seemed  to  have  Httle,  if  anything, 
to  do  with  this  world.     Many  thousands  of  workmen  are  now 
employed,  and  many  millions  of  dollars  are  invested,  in  the 
manufacture  of  dye-stuffs  that  were  unknown  a  few  years  ago. 
Here  plainly  the  fundamental  fact  is  the  esthetic  desire  of  man 
for  colors.     A  colorless  world  would  be  unbearable  to  him. 
Nature  accustoms  him  to  color  in  a  great  variety  of  combina- 
tions, and  it  becomes  a  necessity  to  him.     And  his  desires 
increase  as  they  are  gratified.     There  seems  to  be  no  end  to 
development  in  this  line.     At  all  events,  the  data  at  our  dis- 
posal justify  the  conclusion  that  there  will  be  a  demand  for 
every  dye  that  combines  the  quahties  of  beauty  and  dura- 
bility.    Thousands  of   scientifically  trained  men  are  engaged 
to  work  in  the  effort  to  deliver  new  dyes  to  meet  the  increasing 
demands.     New  industries  are  springing  up,  and  many  find 
employment  in  them.     As  a  rule,  the  increased  demand  for 
labor  caused  by  the  establishment  of  these  industries  is  not 
offset  by  the  closing  up  of  other  industries.     Certainly  it  ig 

X  [12] 


THE   LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

true  that  scientific  investigation  has  created  large  demands 
for  labor  that  could  hardly  find  employment  without  these 
demands. 

The  welfare  of  a  nation  depends  to  a  large  extent  upon  the 
success  of  its  industries.  In  his  address  as  president  of  the 
British  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  Sir  Nor- 
man Lockyer  quotes  Mr.  Chamberlain  thus:  ''I  do  not  think 
it  is  necessary  for  me  to  say  anything  as  to  the  urgency  and 
necessity  of  scientific  training.  ...  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  the  existence  of  this  country  as  the  great  commercial 
nation  depends  upon  it.  .  .  .  It  depends  very  much  upon 
what  we  are  doing  now,  at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth 
century,  whether  at  its  end  we  shall  continue  to  maintain  our 
supremacy  or  even  equality  with  our  great  commercial  and 
manufacturing  rivals."  In  another  part  of  his  address,  Sir 
Norman  Lockyer  says:  "Further,  I  am  told  that  the  sum  of 
;£24,ooo,ooo  is  less  than  half  the  amount  by  which  Germany 
is  yearly  enriched  by  having  improved  upon  our  chemical 
industries,  owing  to  our  lack  of  scientific  training.  Many 
other  industries  have  been  attacked  in  the  same  way  since, 
but  taking  this  one  instance  alone,  if  we  had  spent  this  money 
fifty  years  ago,  when  the  Prince  Consort  first  called  attention 
to  our  backwardness,  the  nation  would  now  be  much  richer 
than  it  is,  and  would  have  much  less  to  fear  from  competition." 

But  enough  on  the  purely  material  side.  Let  us  turn  to 
the  intellectual  results  of  scientific  investigation.  This  part 
of  our  subject  might  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words.  It  is  so 
obvious  that  the  intellectual  condition  of  mankind  is  a  direct 
result  of  scientific  investigation,  that  one  hesitates  to  make 
the  statement.  The  mind  of  man  cannot  carry  him  much 
in  advance  of  his  knowledge  of  the  facts.  Intellectual  gains 
can  be  made  only  by  discoveries,  and  discoveries  can  be  made 
only  by  investigation.  One  generation  differs  from  another 
in  the  way  it  looks  at  the  world.  A  generation  that  thinks 
the  earth  is  the  centre  of  the  universe  differs  intellectually 
from  one  that  has  learned  the  true  position  of  the  earth  in 
the  solar  system,  and  the  general  relations  of  the  solar  system 
to  other  similar  systems  that  make  up  the  universe.  A  genera- 
X  [13] 


THE  LATEST  KNOWLEDGE 

tion  that  sees  in  every  species  of  animal  and  plant  evidence  of 
a  special  creative  act  differs  from  one  that  has  recognized  the 
general  truth  of  the  conception  of  evolution.  And  so  in  every 
department  of  knowledge,  the  great  generalizations  that  have 
been  reached  through  the  persistent  efforts  of  scientific  investi- 
gators are  the  intellectual  gains  that  have  resulted.  These 
great  generalizations  measure  the  intellectual  wealth  of  man- 
kind. They  are  the  foundations  of  all  profitable  thought. 
While  the  generalizations  of  science  belong  to  the  world,  not 
all  the  world  takes  advantage  of  its  opportunities.  Nation 
differs  from  nation  intellectually,  as  individual  differs  from 
individual.  It  is  not,  however,  the  possession  of  knowledge 
that  makes  the  efficient  individual  and  the  efficient  nation. 
It  is  well  known  that  an  individual  may  be  very  learned  and 
at  the  same  time  very  inefficient.  The  question  is,  what  use 
does  he  make  of  his  knowledge?  When  we  speak  of  intel- 
lectual results  of  scientific  investigation,  we  mean  not  only 
accumulated  knowledge,  but  the  way  in  which  this  knowl- 
edge is  invested.  A  man  who  simply  accumulates  money, 
and  does  not  see  to  it  that  this  money  is  carefully  invested,  is 
a  miser,  and  no  large  results  can  come  from  his  efforts.  While, 
then,  the  intellectual  state  of  a  nation  is  measured  partly  by 
the  extent  to  which  it  has  taken  possession  of  the  generaHza- 
tions  that  belong  to  the  world,  it  is  also  measured  by  the  ex- 
tent to  which  the  methods  by  which  knowledge  is  accumulated 
have  been  brought  into  requisition  and  have  become  a  part  of  the 
equipment  of  the  people  of  that  nation.  The  intellectual  prog- 
ress of  a  nation  depends  upon  the  adoption  of  scientific  methods 
in  dealing  with  intellectual  problems.  The  scientific  method 
is  applicable  to  all  kinds  of  intellectual  problems.  We  need 
it  in  every  department  of  activity.  I  have  sometimes  wondered 
what  the  result  would  be  if  the  scientific  method  could  be 
employed  in  all  the  manifold  problems  connected  with  the 
management  of  a  government.  Questions  of  tariff,  of  finance, 
of  international  relations  would  be  dealt  with  much  more 
satisfactorily  than  at  present  if  the  spirit  of  the  scientific  method 
were  breathed  into  those  who  are  called  upon  to  deal  with 
these  questions.  It  is  plain,  I  think,  that  the  higher  the  in- 
X  [14] 


THE   LATEST   KNOWLEDGE 

tellectual  state  of  a  nation  the  better  will  it  deal  with  all  the 
problems  that  present  themselves.  As  the  intellectual  state 
is  a  direct  result  of  scientific  investigation,  it  is  clear  that  the 
nation  that  adopts  the  scientific  method  will  in  the  end  out- 
rank both  intellectually  and  industrially  the  nation  that  does 
not. ' 

What  are  the  ethical  results  of  scientific  investigation? 
No  one  can  tell.  There  is  one  thought  that  in  this  connection 
I  should  like  to  impress  upon  you.  The  fundamental  char- 
acteristic of  the  scientific  method  is  honesty.  In  dealing 
with  any  question  science  asks  no  favors.  The  sole  object 
is  to  learn  the  truth,  and  to  be  guided  by  the  truth.  Absolute 
accuracy,  absolute  fidelity,  absolute  honesty  are  the  prime 
conditions  of  scientific  progress.  I  believe  that  the  constant 
use  of  the  scientific  method  must  in  the  end  leave  its  impress 
upon  him  who  uses  it.  The  results  will  not  be  satisfactory 
in  all  cases,  but  the  tendency  will  be  in  the  right  direction. 
A  life  spent  in  accordance  with  scientific  teachings  would  be 
of  a  high  order.  It  would  practically  conform  to  the  teachings 
of  the  highest  types  of  rehgion.  The  motives  would  be  dif- 
ferent, but  so  far  as  conduct  is  concerned  the  results  would 
be  practically  identical.  I  need  not  enlarge  upon  this  subject. 
Unfortunately,  abstract  truth  and  knowledge  of  facts  and  of 
the  conclusions  to  be  drawn  from  them  do  not  at  present 
furnish  a  sufficient  basis  for  right  living  in  the  case  of  the  great 
majority  of  mankind,  and  science  cannot  now,  and  I  do  not 
believe  it  ever  can,  take  the  place  of  religion  in  some  form. 
When  the  feeling  that  the  two  are  antagonistic  wears  away, 
as  it  is  wearing  away,  it  will  no  doubt  be  seen  that  one  supple- 
ments the  other,  in  so  far  as  they  have  to  do  with  the  conduct 
of  man. 

What  are  we  doing  in  this  country  to  encourage  scientific 
investigation?  Not  until  about  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago 
can  it  be  said  that  it  met  with  any  encouragement.  Since 
then  there  has  been  a  great  change.  Up  to  that  time  research 
was  sporadic.  Soon  after,  it  became  almost  epidemic.  The 
direct  cause  of  the  change  was  the  establishing  of  courses  in 
our  universities  for  the  training  of  investigators  somewhat 
X  [IS] 


THE  LATEST  KNOWLEDGE 

upon  the  lines  followed  in  the  German  universities.  In  these 
courses  the  carrying  out  of  an  investigation  plays  an  important 
part.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  culmination  of  the  course.  At 
first  there  were  not  many  following  these  courses,  but  it  was 
not  long  before  there  was  a  demand  for  the  products.  Those 
who  could  present  evidence  that  they  had  followed  such  coiirses 
were  generally  given  the  preference.  This  was  especially  true 
in  the  case  of  appointments  in  the  colleges,  some  colleges  even 
going  so  far  as  to  decline  to  appoint  any  one  who  had  not  taken 
the  degree  of  doctor  of  philosophy,  which  is  the  badge  of  the 
course  that  involves  investigation.  As  the  demand  for  those 
who  had  received  this  training  increased,  the  number  of  those 
seeking  it  increased  at  least  in  the  same  proportion.  New 
universities  were  cstabhshed  and  old  ones  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  new  movement,  until  from  one  end  of  the  country  to 
the  other  centres  of  scientific  activity  are  now  found,  and  the 
amount  of  research  work  that  is  done  is  enormous  compared 
with  what  was  done  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  ago.  Many 
of  those  who  get  a  taste  of  the  work  of  investigation  become 
fascinated  by  it  and  are  anxious  to  devote  their  lives  to  it. 
At  present,  with  the  f acihties  for  such  work  available,  it  seems 
probable  that  most  of  those  who  have  a  strong  desire  and 
the  necessary  industry  and  abihty  to  follow  it  find  their  op- 
portunity somewhere.  There  is  Kttle  danger  of  our  losing 
a  genius  or  even  one  with  fair  talent.  The  world  is  on  the  look- 
out for  them.  The  demand  for  those  who  can  do  good  re- 
search work  is  greater  than  the  supply.  To  be  sure  the  ma- 
terial rewards  are  not  as  a  rule  so  great  as  those  that  are  likely 
to  be  won  by  the  ablest  members  of  some  other  professions 
and  occupations,  and  as  long  as  this  condition  of  affairs  con- 
tinues to  exist  there  will  not  be  so  many  men  of  the  highest 
intellectual  order  engaged  in  this  work  as  we  should  like  to 
see.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  consider  the  great  prog- 
ress that  has  been  made  during  the  last  twenty-five  years 
or  so,  we  have  every  reason  to  take  a  cheerful  view  of  the 
future.  If  as  much  progress  should  be  made  in  the  next 
quarter  century,  we  shall,  to  say  the  least,  be  able  to  com- 
pete with  the  foremost  nations  of  the  world  in  scientific  in- 
X  [i6] 


THE  LATEST  KNOWLEDGE 

vestigation.  In  my  opinion  this  progress  is  largely  depen- 
dent upon  the  development  of  our  universities.  Without 
the  opportunities  for  training  in  the  methods  of  scientific  in- 
vestigation there  will  be  but  few  investigators.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  have  a  large  number  in  order  that  the  principle  of 
selection  may  operate.  ,  In  this  Hne  of  work,  as  in  others, 
many  are  called,  but  few  are  chosen. 

Another  fact  that  is  working  advantageously  to  increase 
the  amount  of  scientific  research  done  in  this  country  is  the 
support  given  by  the  government  in  its  different  scientific 
bureaus.  The  Geological  Survey,  the  Department  of  Agri- 
cuhure,  the  Coast  and  Geodetic  Survey,  the  National  Bureau 
of  Standards,  and  other  departments  are  carrying  on  a  large 
amount  of  excellent  scientific  work,  and  thus  helping  most 
efficiently  to  spread  the  scientific  spirit  throughout  the  land. 

Finally,  two  exceedingly  interesting  experiments  in  the 
way  of  encouraging  scientific  investigation  are  now  attracting 
the  attention  of  the  world.  I  mean,  of  course,  the  Carnegie 
Institution,  with  its  endowment  of  $10,000,000,  and  the  Rocke- 
feller Institute,  devoted  to  investigations  in  the  field  of  medi- 
cine, which  will  no  doubt  be  adequately  endowed.  It  is  too 
early  to  express  an  opinion  in  regard  to  the  influence  of  these 
great  foundations  upon  the  progress  of  scientific  investiga- 
tion. As  both  will  make  possible  the  carrying-  out  of  many 
investigations  that  would  otherwise  probably  not  be  carried 
out,  the  chances  of  receiving  valuable  results  will  be  increased. 
The  danger  is  that  those  who  are  responsible  for  the  manage- 
ment of  the  funds  will  be  disappointed  that  the  results  are  not 
at  once  of  a  striking  character,  and  that  they  will  be  tempted 
to  change  the  method  of  applying  the  money  before  those 
who  are  using  it  have  had  a  fair  chance.  But  we  who  are 
on  the  outside  know  little  of  the  plans  of  those  who  are  inside. 
All  signs  indicate  that  they  are  making  an  earnest  effort  to 
solve  an  exceedingly  difficult  problem,  and  all  who  have  the 
opportunity  should  do  everything  in  their  power  to  aid  them. 


fi7] 


XI 


OUR  COUNTRY 

"THE   MAKING   OF  THE   NATION" 

BY 

WOODROW  WILSON 

PRESIDENT  OF  PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


TJZ  ^  have  traced  humanity  hack  to  its  vague  sources,  we 
^^  have  invoked  the  aid  oj  the  chief  leaders  of  present- 
day  science  to  tell  us  not  only  what  they  are  achieving  now,  hut 
what  they  believe  as  to  the  development  oj  the  primal  instincts 
of  the  race.  We  have  endeavored  to  look  upon  ourselves  as 
science  looks  upon  us,  calmly,  analytically,  comprehensively. 
Let  us  escape  for  a  moment  from  this  unemotional  atmosphere, 
let  us  turn  from  consideration  of  the  race,  the  animal,  as  a  mass, 
and  hegin  the  more  direct  and  human  study  of  the  individual. 
And  first,  for  man  in  general  we  will  substitute  American  man. 
Through  what  special  process  has  he,  the  woodsman,  the  pioneer, 
the  colonizer  of  three  centuries  ago,  become  the  intellectual,  wide- 
reaching,  business-like  worker  of  to-day?  What  changing  in- 
fluences have  worked  upon  his  mind  and  body,  upon  his  sur- 
roundings and  his  government?  What,  in  short,  has  built  up 
''our  country^^? 

To  guide  us  here  we  seek  the  aid  of  our  foremost  contem- 
porary historian,  Woodrow  Wilson,  President  of  Princeton 
since  1902,  and  author  of  the  noteworthy  ''History  of  the  Ameri- 
can People.''^  The  following  article  was  originally  published 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  is  here  reprinted  by  permission 
of  the  editors  and  with  the  approval  of  President  Wilson.  The 
broad  patriotism  of  the  author  saves  from  all  sectional  spirit  an 
analysis  which  might  easily  have  become  partisan.  There  is 
weakness  in  our  government,  of  the  occasional  evil  results  of 
XI  [I] 


OUR   COUNTRY 

which  we  have  all  been  painfully  aware.     Dr.  Wilson^s  keen 
thought  points  out  its  source. 

The  making  of  our  own  nation  seems  to  have  taken  place 
under  our  very  eyes,  so  recent  and  so  familiar  is  the  story. 
The  great  process  was  worked  out  in  the  plain  and  open  day 
of  the  modern  world,  statesmen  and  historians  standing  by 
to  superintend,  criticise,  make  record  of  what  was  done.  The 
stirring  narrative  runs  quickly  into  the  day  in  which  we  live; 
we  can  say  that  our  grandfathers  builded  the  government 
which  now  holds  so  large  a  place  in  the  world;  the  story  seems 
of  yesterday,  and  yet  seems  entire,  as  if  the  making  of  the 
repubhc  had  hastened  to  complete  itself  within  a  single  hundred 
years.  We  are  elated  to  see  so  great  a  thing  done  upon  so 
great  a  scale,  and  to  feel  ourselves  in  so  intimate  a  way  actors 
in  the  moving  scene. 

Yet  we  should  deceive  ourselves  were  we  to  suppose  the 
work  done,  the  nation  made.  We  have  been  told  by  a  cer- 
tain group  of  our  historians  that  a  nation  was  made  when  the 
federal  Constitution  was  adopted;  that  the  strong  sentences 
of  the  law  sufficed  to  transform  us  from  a  league  of  States 
into  a  people  single  and  inseparable.  Some  tell  us,  however, 
that  it  was  not  till  the  war  of  1812  that  we  grew  fully  con- 
scious of  a  single  purpose  and  destiny,  and  began  to  form 
poHcies  as  if  for  a  nation.  Others  see  the  process  complete 
only  when  the  civil  war  struck  slavery  away,  and  gave  North 
and  South  a  common  way  of  life  that  should  make  common 
ideals  and  common  endeavors  at  last  possible.  Then,  when 
all  have  had  their  say,  there  comes  a  great  movement  like 
the  one  which  we  call  PopuHsm,  to  remind  us  how  the  country 
still  Hes  apart  in  sections:  some  at  one  stage  of  development, 
some  at  another;  some  with  one  hope  and  purpose  for  America, 
some  with  another.  And  we  ask  ourselves.  Is  the  history  of 
our  making  as  a  nation  indeed  over,  or  do  we  still  wait  upon 
the  forces  that  shall  at  last  unite  us?  Are  we  even  now,  in 
fact,  a  nation? 

Clearly,  it  is  not  a  question  of  sentiment,  but  a  question 
of  fact.     If  it  be  true  that  the  country,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  at 
XI  [2] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

one  and  the  same  time  in  several  stages  of  development — not 
a  great  commercial  and  manufacturing  nation,  with  here  and 
there  its  broad  pastures  and  the  quiet  farms  from  which  it 
draws  its  food;  not  a  vast  agricultural  community,  with  here 
and  there  its  ports  of  shipment  and  its  necessary  marts  of  ex- 
change; nor  yet  a  country  of  mines,  merely,  pouring  their 
products  forth  into  the  markets  of  the  world,  to  take  thence 
whatever  it  may  need  for  its  comfort  and  convenience  in  Hving 
— we  still  wait  for  its  economic  and  spiritual  union.  It  is  many 
things  at  once.  Sections  big  enough  for  kingdoms  Hve  by 
agriculture,  and  farm  the  wide  stretches  of  a  new  land  by  the 
aid  of  money  borrowed  from  other  sections  which  seem  almost 
hke  another  nation,  with  their  teeming  cities,  dark  with  the 
smoke  of  factories,  quick  with  the  movements  of  trade,  as 
sensitive  to  the  variations  of  exchange  on  London  as  to  the 
variations  in  the  crops  raised  by  their  distant  fellow-country- 
men on  the  plains  within  the  continent.  Upon  other  great 
spaces  of  the  vast  continent,  communities,  miUions  strong, 
Hve  the  distinctive  life  of  the  miner,  have  all  their  fortune 
bound  up  and  centred  in  a  single  group  of  industries,  feel  in 
their  utmost  concentration  the  power  of  economic  forces  else- 
where dispersed,  and  chafe  under  the  unequal  yoke  that  unites 
them  with  communities  so  unhke  themselves  as  those  which 
lend  and  trade  and  manufacture,  and  those  which  follow  the 
plough  and  reap  the  grain  that  is  to  feed  the  world. 

Such  contrasts  are  nothing  new  in  our  history,  and  our 
system  of  government  is  admirably  adapted  to  relieve  the 
strain  and  soften  the  antagonism  they  might  entail.  All  our 
national  history  through  our  country  has  lain  apart  in  sec- 
tions, each  marking  a  stage  of  settlement,  a  stage  of  wealth, 
a  stage  of  development,  as  population  has  advanced,  as  if  by 
successive  journeyings  and  encampments,  from  east  to  west; 
and  always  new  regions  have  been  suffered  to  become  new 
States,  form  their  own  life  under  their  own  law,  plan  their 
ov/n  economy,  adjust  their  own  domestic  relations,  and  legal- 
ize their  own  methods  of  business.  States  have,  indeed, 
often  been  whimsicplly  enough  formed.  We  have  left  the 
matter  of  boundaries  to  surveyors  rather  than  to  statesmen, 

M  [3] 


OUR   COUNTRY 

and  have  by  no  means  managed  to  construct  economic  units 
in  the  making  of  States.  We  have  joined  mining  communi- 
ties with  agricultural,  the  mountain  with  the  plain,  the  ranch 
with  the  farm,  and  have  left  the  making  of  uniform  rules  to 
the  sagacity  and  practical  habit  of  neighbors  ill  at  ease  with 
one  another.  But  on  the  whole,  the  scheme,  though  a  bit 
haphazard,  has  worked  itself  out  with  singularly  Uttle  fric- 
tion and  no  disaster,  and  the  strains  of  the  great  structure 
we  have  erected  have  been  greatly  eased  and  dissipated. 

Elastic  as  the  system  is,  however,  it  stiffens  at  every  point 
of  national  pohcy.  The  federal  government  can  make  but 
one  rule,  and  that  a  rule  for  the  whole  country,  in  each  act  of 
its  legislation.  Its  very  constitution  withholds  it  from  dis- 
crimination as  between  State  and  State,  section  and  section; 
and  yet  its  chief  powers  touch  just  those  subjects  of  economic 
interest  in  which  the  several  sections  of  the  country  feel  them- 
selves most  unlike.  Currency  questions  do  not  affect  them 
equally  or  in  the  same  way.  Some  need  an  elastic  currency 
to  serve  their  uses;  others  can  fill  their  coffers  more  readily 
with  a  currency  that  is  inelastic.  Some  can  build  up  manu- 
factures under  a  tariff  law;  others  cannot,  and  must  submit 
to  pay  more  without  earning  more.  Some  have  one  interest 
in  a  principle  of  interstate  commerce;  others,  another.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  find  even  a  question  of  foreign  policy 
which  would  touch  all  parts  of  the  country  alike.  A  foreign 
fleet  would  mean  much  more  to  the  merchants  of  Boston  and 
New  York  than  to  the  merchants  of  Illinois  and  the  farmers 
of  the  Dakotas. 

The  conviction  is  becoming  painfully  distinct  among  us, 
moreover,  that  these  contrasts  of  conditions  and  differences 
of  interest  between  the  several  sections  of  the  country  are  now 
more  marked  and  emphasized  than  they  ever  were  before. 
The  country  has  been  transformed  within  a  generation,  not 
by  any  creations  in  a  new  kind,  but  by  stupendous  changes 
in  degree.  Every  interest  has  increased  its  scale  and  its  in- 
dividual significance.  The  "East"  is  transformed  by  the 
vast  accumulations  of  wealth  made  since  the  civil  war — trans- 
formed from  a  simple  to  a  complex  civiHzation,  more  like  the 
XI  [4] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

Old  World  than  like  the  New.  The  ''West"  has  so  magni- 
fied its  characteristics  by  sheer  growth,  every  economic  in- 
terest which  its  Hfe  represents  has  become  so  gigantic  in  its 
proportions,  that  it  seems  to  Eastern  men,  and  to  its  own 
people  also,  more  than  ever  a  region  apart.  It  is  true  that  the 
"West"  is  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  region  at  all,  but,  in 
Professor  Turner's  admirable  phrase,  a  stage  of  development, 
nowhere  set  apart  and  isolated,  but  spread  abroad  through 
all  the  far  interior  of  the  continent.  But  it  is  now  a  stage  of 
development  with  a  difference,  as  Professor  Turner  has  shown,* 
which  makes  it  practically  a  new  thing  in  our  history.  The 
"West"  was  once  a  series  of  States  and  settlements  beyond 
which  lay  free  lands  not  yet  occupied,  into  which  the  restless 
and  all  who  could  not  thrive  by  mere  steady  industry,  all  who 
had  come  too  late  and  all  who  had  stayed  too  long,  could  pass 
on,  and,  it  might  be,  better  their  fortunes.  Now  it  lies  with- 
out outlet.  The  free  lands  are  gone.  New  communities 
must  make  their  life  sufficient  without  this  easy  escape — 
must  study  economy,  find  their  fortunes  in  what  lies  at  hand, 
intensify  effort,  increase  capital,  build  up  a  future  out  of  de- 
tails. It  is  as  if  they  were  caught  in  a  fixed  order  of  life  and 
forced  into  a  new  competition,  and  both  their  self-conscious- 
ness and  their  keenness  to  observe  every  point  of  self-interest 
are  enlarged  beyond  former  example. 

That  there  are  currents  of  national  life,  both  strong  and 
definite,  running  in  full  tide  through  all  the  continent  from 
sea  to  sea,  no  observant  person  can  fail  to  perceive — currents 
which  have  long  been  gathering  force,  and  which  cannot  now 
be  withstood.  There  need  be  no  fear  in  any  sane  man's  mind 
that  we  shall  ever  again  see  our  national  government  threatened 
with  overthrow  by  any  power  which  our  own  growth  has  bred. 
The  temporary  danger  is  that,  not  being  of  a  common  mind, 
because  not  Hving  under  common  conditions,  the  several  sec- 
tions of  the  country,  which  a  various  economic  development 
has  for  the  time  being  set  apart  and  contrasted,  may  struggle 
for  supremacy  in  the  control  of  the  government,  and  that 
we  may  learn  by  some  sad  experience  that  there  is  not  even 
^  See  American  Historical  Review,  Vol.  I.,  p.  71. 

«  [  5  ] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

yet   any  common  standard,   either  of   opinion  or  of   policy, 
underlying  our  national  life.     The  country  is  of  one  mind  in 
its  allegiance  to  the  government  and  in  its  attachment  to  the 
national  idea;   but  it  is  not  yet  of  one  mind  in  respect  of  that 
fundamental   question.   What   poHcies  will  best   serve   us   in 
giving  strength  and  development  to  our  Hfe?     Not  the  least 
noteworthy  of  the  incidents  that  preceded  and  foretokened 
the  civil  war  was,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  the  sectionaHzation  of 
the  national  idea.     Southern  merchants  bestirred  themselves 
to  get  conventions  together  for  the  discussion,  not  of  the  issues 
of  pohties,  but  of  the  economic  interests  of  the  country.     Their 
thought  and  hope  were  of  the  nation.     They  spoke  no  word 
of   antagonism  against  any  section  or  interest.     Yet  it  was 
plain  in  every  resolution  they  uttered  that  for  them  the  nation 
was  one  thing  and  centred  in  the  South,  while  for  the  rest  of 
the  country  the  nation  was  another  thing  and  lay  in  the  North 
and  Northwest.     They  were  arguing  the  needs  of  the  nation 
from  the  needs  of  their  own  section.     The  same  thing  had  hap- 
pened in  the  days  of  the  embargo  and  the  war  of  1812.      The 
Hartford  Convention  thought  of  New  England  when  it  spoke 
of  the  country.      So  must  it  ever  be  when  section  differs  from 
section  in  the  very  basis  and  method  of  its  life.    The  nation  is 
to-day  one  thing  in  Kansas,  and  quite  another  in  Massachusetts. 
There  is  no  longer  any  danger  of  a  civil  war.     There  was 
war  between  the  South  and  the  rest  of  the  nation  because 
their   differences   were   removable   in   no   other  way.     There 
was  no  prospect  that  slavery,  the  root  of  these  differences, 
would  ever  disappear  in  the  mere  process  of  growth.     It  was 
to  be  apprehended,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  very  processes 
of  growth  would  inevitably  lead  to  the  extension  of  slavery 
and  the  perpetuation  of  radical  social  and  economic  contrasts 
and   antagonisms  between   State   and   State,   between   region 
and  region.     A  heroic  remedy  was  the  only  remedy.     Slavery 
being  removed,  the  South  is  now  joined  with  the  "West," 
joined  with  it  in  a  stage  of  development,  as  a  region  chiefly 
agricultural,   without  diversified  industries,  without  a  multi- 
farious  trade,   without   those   subtle   extended   nerves   which 
come  with  all-around  economic  development,  and  which  make 
XI  [6] 


OUR  COUNTRY, 

men  keenly  sensible  of  the  interests  that  link  the  world  to- 
gether, as  it  were  into  a  single  community.  But  these  are 
Hnes  of  difference  which  will  be  effaced  by  mere  growth,  which 
time  will  calmly  ignore.  They  make  no  boundaries  for  armies 
to  cross.  Tide-water  Virginia  was  thus  separated  once  from 
her  own  population  within  the  Alleghany  valleys — held  two 
jealous  sections  within  her  own  limits.  Massachusetts  once 
knew  the  sharp  divergences  of  interest  and  design  which 
separated  the  coast  settlements  upon  the  Bay  from  the  rest- 
less pioneers  who  had  taken  up  the  free  lands  of  her  own 
western  counties.  North  Carolina  was  once  a  comfortable 
and  indifferent  "East"  to  the  uneasy  ''West"  that  was  to 
become  Tennessee.  Virginia  once  seemed  old  and  effete  to 
Kentucky.  The  "great  West"  once  lay  upon  the  Ohio,  but 
has  since  disappeared  there,  overlaid  by  the  changes  which 
have  carried  the  conditions  of  the  "East"  to  the  Great  Lakes 
and  beyond.  There  has  never  yet  been  a  time  in  our  history 
when  we  were  without  an  "East"  and  a  "West,"  but  the 
novel  day  when  we  shall  be  without  them  is  now  in  sight. 
As  the  country  grows  it  will  inevitably  grow  homogeneous. 
Population  will  not  henceforth  spread,  but  compact;  for 
there  is  no  new  land  between  the  seas  where  the  "West"  can 
find  another  lodgment.  The  conditions  which  prevail  in  the 
ever- widening  "East"  will  sooner  or  later  cover  the  continent, 
and  we  shall  at  last  be  one  people.  The  process  will  not  be 
a  short  one.  It  will  doubtless  run  through  many  genera- 
tions and  involve  many  a  critical  question  of  statesmanship. 
But  it  cannot  be  stayed,  and  its  working  out  will  bring  the  nation 
to  its  final  character  and  role  in  the  world. 

In  the  mean  time,  shall  we  not  constantly  recall  our  re- 
assuring past,  reminding  one  another  again  and  again,  as 
our  memories  fail  us,  of  the  significant  incidents  of  the  long 
journey  we  have  already  come,  in  order  that  we  may  be  cheered 
and  guided  upon  the  road  we  have  yet  to  choose  and  follow? 
It  is  only  by  thus  attempting,  and  attempting  again  and  again, 
some  sufficient  analysis  of  our  past  experiences,  that  we  can 
form  any  adequate  image  of  our  life  as  a  nation,  or  acquire 
any  inteUigent  purpose  to  guide  us  amidst  the  rushing  move- 
XI  [7l 


OUR  COUNTRY 

ment  of  affairs.  It  is  no  doubt  in  part  by  reviewing  our  lives 
that  we  shape  and  determine  them.  The  future  will  not,  in- 
deed, be  hke  the  past;  of  that  we  may  rest  assured.  It  can- 
not be  like  it  in  detail;  it  cannot  even  resemble  it  in  the  large. 
It  is  one  thing  to  fill  a  fertile  continent  with  a  vigorous  people 
and  take  possession  of  its  treasures;  it  is  quite  another  to 
complete  the  work  of  occupation  and  civihzation  in  detail. 
Big  plans,  thought  out  only  in  the  rough,  will  suffice  for  the 
one,  but  not  for  the  other.  A  provident  leadership,  a  patient 
tolerance  of  temporary  but  unavoidable  evils,  a  just  temper 
of  compromise  and  accommodation,  a  hopeful  industry  in 
the  face  of  small  returns,  mutual  understandings,  and  a  cordial 
spirit  of  cooperation  are  needed  for  the  slow,  intensive  task, 
which  were  not  demanded  amidst  the  free  advances  of  an 
unhampered  people  from  settlement  to  settlement.  And  yet 
the  past  has  made  the  present,  and  will  make  the  future.  It 
has  made  us  a  nation,  despite  a  variety  of  Hfe  that  threatened 
to  keep  us  at  odds  among  ourselves.  It  has  shown  us  the 
processes  by  which  differences  have  been  obhterated  and 
antagonisms  softened.  It  has  taught  us  how  to  become  strong, 
and  will  teach  us,  if  we  heed  its  moral,  how  to  become  wise, 
also,  and  single-minded. 

The  colonies  which  formed  the  Union  were  brought  to- 
gether, let  us  first  remind  ourselves,  not  merely  because  they 
were  neighbors  and  kinsmen,  but  because  they  were  forced 
to  see  that  they  had  common  interests  which  they  could  serve 
in  no  other  way.  "There  is  nothing  which  binds  one  country 
or  one  State  to  another  but  interest,"  said  Washington.  "  With- 
out this  cement  the  Western  inhabitants  can  have  no  pre- 
dilection for  us."  Without  that  cement  the  colonies  could 
have  had  no  predilection  for  one  another.  But  it  is  one  thing 
to  have  common  interests,  and  quite  another  to  perceive  them 
and  to  act  upon  them.  The  colonies  were  first  thrust  to- 
gether by  the  pressure  of  external  danger.  They  needed 
one  another,  as  well  as  aid  from  over-sea,  as  any  fool  could 
perceive,  if  they  were  going  to  keep  their  frontiers  against 
the  Indians,  and  their  outlets  upon  the  Western  waters  from 
the  French.  The  French  and  Indian  war  over,  that  press- 
XI  [8] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

ure  was  relieved,  and  they  might  have  fallen  again  apart, 
indifferent  to  any  common  aim,  unconscious  of  any  common 
interest,  had  not  the  government  that  was  their  common 
master  set  itself  to  make  them  wince  under  common  wrongs. 
Then  it  was  that  they  saw  how  hke  they  were  in  poHty  and  hf  e 
and  interest  in  the  great  field  of  politics,  studied  their  common 
liberty,  and  became  aware  of  their  common  ambitions.  It 
was  then  that  they  became  aware,  too,  that  their  common 
ambitions  could  be  realized  only  by  union;  not  single-handed, 
but  united  against  a  common  enemy.  Had  they  been  let 
alone,  it  would  have  taken  many  a  long  generation  of  slowly 
increased  acquaintance  with  one  another  to  apprise  them  of 
their  kinship  in  life  and  interests  and  institutions;  but  Eng- 
land drove  them  into  immediate  sympathy  and  com.bination, 
unwittingly  founding  a  nation  by  suggestion. 

The  war  for  freedom  over,  the  new-fledged  States  entered 
at  once  upon  a  very  practical  course  of  education  which  thrust 
its  lessons  upon  them  without  regard  to  taste  or  predilection. 
The  Articles  of  Confederation  had  been  formulated  and  pro- 
posed to  the  States  for  their  acceptance  in  1777,  as  a  legali- 
zation of  the  arrangements  that  had  grown  up  under  the  in- 
formal guidance  of  the  Continental  Congress,  in  order  that 
law  might  confirm  and  strengthen  practice,  and  because  an 
actual  continental  war  commanded  a  continental  organiza- 
tion. But  the  war  was  virtually  over  by  the  time  all  the  re- 
luctant States  had  accepted  the  Articles;  and  the  new  govern- 
ment had  hardly  been  put  into  formal  operation  before  it 
became  evident  that  only  the  war  had  made  such  an  arrange- 
ment workable.  Not  compacts,  but  the  compulsions  of  a 
common  danger,  had  drawn  the  States  into  an  irregular  co- 
operation, and  it  was  even  harder  to  obtain  obedience  to  the 
definite  Articles  than  it  had  been  to  get  the  requisitions  of  the 
unchartered  Congress  heeded  while  the  war  lasted.  Peace 
had  rendered  the  makeshift  common  government  uninterest- 
ing, and  had  given  each  State  leave  to  withdraw  from  com- 
mon undertakings,  and  to  think  once  more,  as  of  old,  only 
of  itself.  Their  own  affairs  again  isolated  and  restored  to  their 
former  separate  importance,  the  States  could  no  longer  spare 
XI  [9] 


OUR   COUNTRY 

their  chief  men  for  what  was  considered  the  minor  work  of 
the  general  Congress.  The  best  men  had  been  gradually- 
withdrawn  from  Congress  before  the  war  ended,  and  now 
there  seemed  less  reason  than  ever  why  they  should  be  sent 
to  talk  at  Philadelphia,  when  they  were  needed  for  the  actual 
work  of  administration  at  home.  Politics  fell  back  into  their 
old  localization,  and  every  public  man  found  his  chief  tasks 
at  home.  There  were  still,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  common  needs 
and  dangers  scarcely  less  imperative  and  menacing  than 
those  which  had  drawn  the  colonies  together  against  the  mother 
country;  but  they  were  needs  and  perils  of  peace,  and  ordi- 
nary men  did  not  see  them;  only  the  most  thoughtful  and 
observant  were  conscious  of  them:  extraordinary  events  were 
required  to  lift  them  to  the  general  view. 

Happily,  there  were  thoughtful  and  observant  men  who 
were  already  the  chief  figures  of  the  country — men  whose 
leadership  the  people  had  long  since  come  to  look  for  and 
accept — and  it  was  through  them  that  the  States  were 
brought  to  a  new  common  consciousness,  and  at  last  to 
a  real  union.  It  was  not  possible  for  the  several  States  to 
live  self-sufficient  and  apart,  as  they  had  done  when  they 
were  colonies.  They  had  then  had  a  common  government, 
little  as  they  liked  to  submit  to  it,  and  their  foreign  affairs 
had  been  taken  care  of.  They  were  now  to  learn  how  ill 
they  could  dispense  with  a  common  providence.  Instead  of 
France,  they  now  had  England  for  neighbor  in  Canada  and 
on  the  Western  waters,  where  they  had  themselves  but  the 
other  day  fought  so  hard  to  set  her  power  up.  She  was  their 
rival  and  enemy,  too,  on  the  seas;  refused  to  come  to  any 
treaty  terms  with  them  in  regard  to  commerce;  and  laughed 
to  see  them  unable  to  concert  any  policy  against  her  because 
they  had  no  common  poHtical  authority  among  themselves. 
She  had  promised,  in  the  treaty  of  peace,  to  withdraw  her 
garrisons  from  the  Western  posts  which  lay  within  the  terri- 
tory belonging  to  the  Confederation;  but  Congress  had  prom- 
ised that  British  creditors  should  be  paid  what  was  due 
them,  only  to  find  that  the  States  would  make  no  laws  to  ful- 
fil the  promise,  and  were  determined  to  leave  their  Federal 
XI  [  lO  ] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

representatives  without  power  to  make  them;  and  England 
kept  her  troops  where  they  were.  Spain  had  taken  France's 
place  upon  the  farther  bank  of  the  Mississippi  and  at  the  great 
river's  mouth.  Grave  questions  of  foreign  policy  pressed  on 
every  side,  as  of  old,  and  no  State  could  settle  them  unaided 
and  for  herself  alone. 

Here  was  a  group  of  commonwealths  which  would  have 
lived  separately  and  for  themselves,  and  could  not;  which 
had  thought  to  make  shift  with  merely  a  "league  of  friend- 
ship" between  them  and  a  Congress  for  consultation,  and 
found  that  it  was  impossible.  There  were  common  debts 
to  pay,  but  there  was  no  common  system  of  taxation  by  which 
to  meet  them,  nor  any  authority  to  devise  and  enforce  such 
a  system.  There  were  common  enemies  and  rivals  to  deal 
with,  but  no  one  was  authorized  to  carry  out  a  common  policy 
against  them.  There  was  a  common  domain  to  settle  and 
administer,  but  no  one  knew  how  a  Congress  without  the 
power  to  command  was  to  manage  so  great  a  property.  The 
Ordinance  of  1787  was  indeed  bravely  framed,  after  a  method 
of  real  statesmanship;  but  there  was  no  warrant  for  it  to  be 
found  in  the  Articles,  and  no  one  could  say  how  Congress 
would  execute  a  law  it  had  had  no  authority  to  enact.  It 
was  not  merely  the  hopeless  confusion  and  sinister  signs  of 
anarchy  which  abounded  in  their  own  affairs — a  rebellion 
of  debtors  in  Massachusetts,  tariff  wars  among  the  States 
that  lay  upon  New  York  Bay  and  on  the  Sound,  North  Caro- 
hna's  doubtful  supremacy  among  her  settlers  in  the  Ten- 
nessee country,  Virginia's  questionable  authority  in  Ken- 
tucky— that  brought  the  States  at  last  to  attempt  a  better 
union  and  set  up  a  real  government  for  the  whole  country. 
It  was  the  inevitable  continental  outlook  of  affairs  as  well; 
if  nothing  more,  the  sheer  necessity  to  grow  and  touch  their 
neighbors  at  close  quarters. 

Washington  had  been  among  the  first  to  see  the  neces- 
sity of  Hving,  not  by  a  local,  but  by  a  continental  pohcy.  Of 
course  he  had  a  direct  pecuniary  interest  in  the  development 
of  the  Western  lands — had  himself  preempted  many  a  broad 
acre  lying  upon  the  far  Ohio,  as  well  as  upon  the  nearer  western 
XI  [11] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

slopes  of  the  mountains — and  it  is  open  to  any  one  who  likes 
the  sinister  suggestion  to  say  that  his  ardor  for  the  occupancy 
of  the  Western  country  was  that  of  the  land  speculator,  not 
that  of  the  statesman.     Everybody  knows  that  it  was  a  con- 
ference between  delegates  from  Maryland  and  Virginia  about 
Washington's  favorite  scheme  of  joining  the  upper  waters  of 
the   Potomac  with  the  upper  waters  of   the  streams  yfhich 
made  their  way  to  the  Mississippi — a  conference  held  at  his 
suggestion  and  at  his  house — that  led  to  the  convening  of 
that  larger  conference  at  Annapolis,  which  called  for  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  body  that  met  at  Philadelphia  and  framed 
the  Constitution  under  which  he  was  to  become  the  first  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.     It  is  open  to  any  one  who  chooses 
to  recall  how  keen  old  Governor  Dinwiddle  had  been,  when 
he  came  to  Virginia,  to  watch  these  same  Western  waters  in 
the  interests  of  the  first  Ohio  Company,  in  which  he  had 
bought  stock;    how  promptly  he  called  the  attention  of  the 
ministers  in  England  to  the  aggressions  of  the  French  in  that 
quarter,  sent  Washington  out  as  his  agent  to  warn  the  in- 
truders off,  and  pushed  the  business  from  stage  to  stage,  till 
the  French   and   Indian  war  was  ablaze,  and  nations  were  in 
deadly  conflict  on  both  sides  of  the  sea.     It  ought  to  be  nothing 
new  and  nothing  strange,  to  those  who  have  read  the  history 
of  the  Enghsh  race  the  world  over,  to  learn  that  conquests 
have  a  thousand  times  sprung  out  of  the  initiative  of  men 
who  have  first  followed  private  interests  into  new  lands  Hke 
speculators,  and  then  planned  their  occupation  and  govern- 
ment   Hke    statesmen.     Dinwiddle    was    no    statesman,    but 
Washington   was;    and  the   circumstance  which   it   is   worth 
while  to  note  about  him  is,  not  that  he  went  prospecting  upon 
the  Ohio  when  the  French  war  was  over,  but  that  he  saw 
more  than  fertile  lands  there — saw  the  "seat  of  a  rising  em- 
pire," and,  first  among  the  men  of  his  day,  perceived  by  what 
means  its  settlers  could  be  bound  to  the  older  communities 
in  the  East  aHke  in  interest  and  in  pohty.     Here  were  the 
first  ''West"  and  the  first  "East,"  and  Washington's  thought 
mediating  between  them. 

The  formation  of  the  Union  brought  a  real  government 
XI  [12] 


OUR   COUNTRY 

into  existence,  and  that  government  set  about  its  work  with 
an  energy,  a  dignity,  a  thoroughness  of  plan,  which  made 
the  whole  country  aware  of  it  from  the  outset,  and  aware, 
consequently,  of  the  national  scheme  of  poHtical  life  it  had 
been  devised  to  promote.  Hamilton  saw  to  it  that  the  new 
government  should  have  a  definite  party  and  body  of  interests 
at  its  back.  It  had  been  fostered  in  the  making  by  the  com- 
mercial classes  at  the  ports  and  along  the  routes  of  commerce, 
and  opposed  in  the  rural  districts  which  lay  away  from  the 
centres  of  population.  Those  who  knew  the  forces  that 
played  from  State  to  State,  and  made  America  a  partner  in 
the  Hfe  of  the  world,  had  earnestly  wanted  a  government  that 
should  preside  and  choose  in  the  making  of  the  nation;  but 
those  who  saw  only  the  daily  round  of  the  countryside  had 
been  indifferent  or  hostile,  consulting  their  pride  and  their 
prejudices.  Hamilton  sought  a  policy  which  should  serve 
the  men  who  had  set  the  government  up,  and  found  it  in  the 
funding  of  the  debt,  both  national  and  domestic,  the  assump- 
tion of  the  Revolutionary  obligations  of  the  States,  and  the 
estabhshment  of  a  national  bank.  This  was  what  the  friends 
of  the  new  plan  had  wanted,  the  rehabihtation  of  credit,  and 
the  government  set  out  with  a  programme  meant  to  commend 
it  to  men  with  money  and  vested  interests. 

It  was  just  such  a  government  that  the  men  of  an  oppo- 
site interest  and  temperament  had  dreaded,  and  Washing- 
ton was  not  out  of  office  before  the  issue  began  to  be  clearly 
drawn  between  those  who  wanted  a  strong  government,  with 
a  great  establishment,  a  system  of  finance  which  should  domi- 
nate the  markets,  an  authority  in  the  field  of  law  which  should 
restrain  the  States  and  make  the  Union,  through  its  courts, 
the  sole  and  final  judge  of  its  own  powers,  and  those  who  dreaded 
nothing  else  so  much,  wished  a  government  which  should 
hold  the  country  together  with  as  Httle  thought  as  possible 
of  its  own  aggrandizement,  went  all  the  way  with  Jefferson 
in  his  jealousy  of  the  commercial  interest,  accepted  his  ideal 
of  a  dispersed  power  put  into  commission  among  the  States 
— even  among  the  local  units  within  the  States — and  looked 
to  see  liberty  discredited  amidst  a  display  of  federal  power. 
XI  [  13  ] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

When  the  first  party  had  had  their  day  in  the  setting  up  of 
the  government  and  the  inauguration  of  a  pohcy  which  should 
make  it  authoritative,  the  party  of  Jefferson  came  in  to  purify 
it.  They  began  by  attacking  the  federal  courts,  which  had 
angered  every  man  of  their  faith  by  a  steady  maintenance 
and  elaboration  of  the  federal  power;  they  ended  by  using 
that  power  just  as  their  opponents  had  used  it.  In  the  first 
place,  it  was  necessary  to  buy  Louisiana,  and  with  it  the  con- 
trol of  the  Mississippi,  notwithstanding  Mr.  Jefferson's  solemn 
conviction  that  such  an  act  was  utterly  without  constitutional 
warrant;  in  the  second  place,  they  had  to  enforce  an  arbitrary 
embargo  in  order  to  try  their  hand  at  reprisal  upon  foreign 
rivals  in  trade;  in  the  end,  they  had  to  recharter  the  national 
bank,  create  a  national  debt  and  a  sinking  fund,  impose  an 
excise  upon  whiskey,  lay  direct  taxes,  devise  a  protective 
tariff,  use  coercion  upon  those  who  would  not  aid  them  in 
a  great  war— play  the  role  of  masters  and  tax-gatherers  as  the 
Federahsts  had  played  it — on  a  greater  scale,  even,  and  with 
equal  gusto.  Everybody  knows  the  famihar  story:  it  has 
new  significance  from  day  to  day  only  as  it  illustrates  the  in- 
variable process  of  nation-making  which  has  gone  on  from 
generation  to  generation,  from  the  first  until  now. 

Opposition  to  the  exercise  and  expansion  of  the  federal 
power  only  made  it  the  more  inevitable  by  making  it  the  more 
dehberate.  The  passionate  protests,  the  plain  speech,  the 
sinister  forecasts,  of  such  men  as  John  Randolph  aided  the 
process  by  making  it  self-conscious.  What  Randolph  meant 
as  an  accusation,  those  who  chose  the  pohcy  of  the  govern- 
ment presently  accepted  as  a  prophecy.  It  was  true,  as  he 
said,  that  a  nation  was  in  the  making,  and  a  government 
under  which  the  privileges  of  the  States  would  count  for  less 
than  the  compulsions  of  the  common  interest.  Few  had  seen 
it  so  at  first;  the  men  who  were  old  when  the  government 
was  born  refused  to  see  it  so  to  the  last;  but  the  young  men 
and  those  who  came  fresh  upon  the  stage  from  decade  to  dec- 
ade presently  found  the  scarecrow  look  hke  a  thing  they 
might  love.  Their  ideal  took  form  with  the  reiterated  sug- 
gestion; thev  began  to  hope  for  what  they  had  been  bidden 
XJ  [14] 


OUR   COUNTRY 

to  dread.  No  party  could  long  use  the  federal  authority 
without  coming  to  feel  it  national — without  forming  some 
ideal  of  the  common  interest,  and  of  the  use  of  power  by  which 
it  should  be  fostered. 

When  they  adopted  the  tariff  of  1816,  the  Jeffersonians 
themselves  formulated  a  policy  which  should  endow  the  federal 
government  with  a  greater  economic  power  than  even  Hamil- 
ton had  planned  when  he  sought  to  win  the  support  of  the 
merchants  and  the  lenders  of  money;  and  when  they  bought 
something  like  a  third  of  the  continent  beyond  the  Mississippi, 
they  made  it  certain  the  nation  should  grow  upon  a  continental 
scale  which  no  provincial  notions  about  state  powers  and  a 
common  government  kept  within  strait  bounds  could  possi- 
bly survive.  Here  were  the  two  forces  which  were  to  domi- 
nate us  till  the  present  day,  and  make  the  present  issues  of 
our  politics:  an  open  "West"  into  which  a  frontier  popu- 
lation was  to  be  thrust  from  generation  to  generation,  and 
a  protective  tariff  which  should  build  up  special  interests  the 
while  in  the  "East,"  and  make  the  contrast  ever  sharper  and 
sharper  between  section  and  section.  What  the  "West"  is 
doing  now  is  simply  to  note  more  dehberately  than  ever  before, 
and  with  a  keener  distaste,  this  striking  contrast  between 
her  own  development  and  that  of  the  "East."  That  was 
a  true  instinct  of  statesmanship  which  led  Henry  Clay  to 
couple  a  policy  of  internal  improvements  with  a  poHcy  of  pro- 
tection. Internal  improvements  meant  in  that  day  great 
roads  leading  into  the  West,  and  every  means  taken  to  open 
the  country  to  use  and  settlement.  While  a  protective  tariff 
was  building  up  special  industries  in  the  East,  public  works 
should  make  an  outlet  into  new  lands  for  all  who  were  not 
getting  the  benefit  of  the  system.  The  plan  worked  admira- 
bly for  many  a  day,  and  was  justly  called  "American,"  so 
well  did  it  match  the  circumstances  of  a  set  of  communities, 
half  old,  half  new:  the  old  waiting  to  be  developed,  the  new 
setting  the  easy  scale  of  living.  The  other  side  of  the  policy 
was  left  for  us.  There  is  no  longer  any  outlet  for  those  who 
are  not  the  beneficiaries  of  the  protective  system,  and  nothing 
but  the  contrasts  it  has  created  remains  to  mark  its  triumphs. 
^I  [15] 


OUR   COUNTRY 

Internal  improv<^ments  no  longer  relieve  the  strain;  they 
have  become  merely  a  means  of  largess. 

The  history  of  the  United  States  has  been  one  continuous 
story  of  rapid,  stupendous  growth,  and  all  its  great  questions 
have  been  questions  of  growth.  It  was  proposed  in  the  Con- 
stitutional Convention  of  1787  that  a  Hmit  should  be  set  to 
the  number  of  new  members  to  be  admitted  to  the  House 
of  Representatives  from  States  formed  beyond  the  Allegha- 
nies;  and  the  suggestion  was  conceived  with  a  true  instinct 
of  prophecy.  The  old  States  were  not  only  to  be  shaken 
out  of  their  self-centred  life,  but  were  even  to  see  their  very 
government  changed  over  their  heads  by  the  rise  of  States 
in  the  Western  country.  John  Randolph  voted  against  the 
admission  of  Ohio  into  the  Union,  because  he  held  that  no 
new  partner  should  be  admitted  to  the  federal  arrangement 
except  by  unanimous  consent.  It  was  the  very  next  year 
that  Louisiana  was  purchased,  and  a  million  square  miles 
were  added  to  the  territory  out  of  which  new  States  were  to  be 
made.  Had  the  original  States  been  able  to  live  to  them- 
selves, keeping  their  own  people,  elaborating  their  own  Hfe, 
without  a  common  property  to  manage,  unvexed  by  a  vacant 
continent,  national  questions  might  have  been  kept  within 
modest  limits.  They  might  even  have  made  shift  to  digest 
Tennessee,  Kentucky,  Mississippi,  Alabama,  and  the  great 
commonwealths  carved  out  of  the  Northwest  Territory,  for 
which  the  Congress  of  the  Confederation  had  already  made 
provision.  But  the  Louisiana  purchase  opened  the  continent 
to  the  planting  of  States,  and  took  the  processes  of  nationali- 
zation out  of  the  hands  of  the  original  "partners."  Ques- 
tions of  politics  were  henceforth  to   be  questions  of  growth. 

For  a  while  the  question  of  slavery  dominated  all  the  rest. 
The  Northwest  Territory  was  closed  to  slavery  by  the  Ordi- 
nance of  1787.  Tennessee,  Kentucky,  Mississippi,  Alabama, 
took  slavery  almost  without  question  from  the  States  from 
which  they  were  sprung.  But  Missouri  gave  the  whole  country 
view  of  the  matter  which  must  be  settled  in  the  making  of 
every  State  founded  beyond  the  Mississippi.  The  slavery 
struggle,  which  seems  to  us  who  are  near  it  to  occupy  so  great 
a  space  in  the  field  of  our  affairs,  was,  of  course,  a  struggle 
XI  [  16  ] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

for  and  against  the  extension  of  slavery,  not  for  or  against 
its  existence  in  the  States  where  it  had  taken  root  from  of 
old — a  question  of  growth,  not  of  law.  It  will  some  day  be 
seen  to  have  been,  for  all  it  was  so  stupendous,  a  mere  epi- 
sode of  development.  Its  result  was  to  remove  a  ground  of 
economic  and  social  difference  as  between  section  and  sec- 
tion which  threatened  to  become  permanent,  standing  forever 
in  the  way  of  a  homogeneous  life.  The  passionate  struggle  to 
prevent  its  extension  inevitably  led  to  its  total  aboHtion; 
and  the  way  was  clear  for  the  South,  as  well  as  the  "West,"  to 
become  like  its  neighbor  sections  in  every  element  of  its  life. 

It  had  also  a  further,  almost  incalculable  effect  in  its  stimu- 
lation of  a  national  sentiment.  It  created  throughout  the 
North  and  Northwest  a  passion  of  devotion  to  the  Union 
which  really  gave  the  Union  a  new  character.  The  nation 
was  fused  into  a  single  body  in  the  fervent  heat  of  the  time. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  war  the  South  had  seemed  like  a  sec- 
tion pitted  against  a  section;  at  its  close  it  seemed  a  territory 
conquered  by  a  neighbor  nation.  That  nation  is  now,  take 
it  roughly,  that  "East"  which  we  contrast  with  the  "West" 
of  our  day.  The  economic  conditions  once  centred  at  New 
York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Pittsburg,  and  the 
other  commercial  and  industrial  cities  of  the  coast  States  are 
now  to  be  found,  hardly  less  clearly  marked,  in  Chicago,  in 
MinneapoHs,  in  Detroit,  through  all  the  great  States  that  He 
upon  the  Lakes,  in  all  the  old  "Northwest."  The  South 
has  fallen  into  a  new  economic  classification.  In  respect 
of  its  stage  of  development  it  belongs  with  the  "West,"  though 
in  sentiment,  in  traditional  ways  of  life,  in  many  a  point  of 
practice  and  detail,  it  keeps  its  old  individuality,  and  though 
it  has  in  its  peculiar  labor  problem  a  hinderance  to  progress 
at  once  unique  and  ominous. 

It  is  to  this  point  we  have  come  in  the  making  of  the  nation. 
The  old  sort  of  growth  is  at  an  end — the  growth  by  mere  ex- 
pansion. We  have  now  to  look  more  closely  to  internal  con- 
ditions, and  study  the  means  by  which  a  various  people  is 
to  be  bound  together  in  a  single  interest.  Many  differences 
will  pass  away  of  themselves.  "East"  and  "West"  will  come 
together  by  a  slow  approach,  as  capital  accumulates  where 
XI  [17]. 


OUR  COUNTRY 

now  it  is  only  borrowed,  as  industrial  development  makes 
its  way  westward  in  a  new  variety,  as  life  gets  its  final  elabora- 
tion and  detail  throughout  all  the  great  spaces  of  the  con- 
tinent, until  all  the  scattered  parts  of  the  nation  are  drawn 
into  real  community  of  interest.  Even  the  race  problem  of 
the  South  will  no  doubt  work  itself  out  in  the  slowness  of 
time,  as  blacks  and  whites  pass  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, gaining  with  each  removal  from  the  memories  of  the  war 
a  surer  self-possession,  an  easier  view  of  the  division  of  labor 
and  of  social  function  to  be  arranged  between  them.  Time 
is  the  only  legislator  in  such  a  matter.  But  not  everything 
can  be  left  to  drift  and  slow  accommodation.  The  nation 
which  has  grown  to  the  proportions  almost  of  the  continent 
within  the  century,  Hes  under  our  eyes,  unfinished,  unhar- 
monized,  waiting  still  to  have  its  parts  adjusted,  lacking  its 
last  lesson  in  the  ways  of  peace  and  concert.  It  required 
statesmanship  of  no  mean  sort  to  bring  us  to  our  present 
growth  and  lusty  strength.  It  will  require  leadership  of  a 
much  higher  order  to  teach  us  the  triumphs  of  cooperation, 
the  self-possession  and  calm  choices  of  maturity. 

Much  may  be  brought  about  by  a  mere  knowledge  of  the 
situation.  It  is  not  simply  the  existence  of  facts  that  governs 
us,  but  consciousness  and  comprehension  of  the  facts.  The 
whole  process  of  statesmanship  consists  in  bringing  facts  to 
Hght,  and  shaping  law  to  suit,  or,  if  need  be,  mould  them. 
It  is  part  of  our  present  danger  that  men  of  the  ''East"  Hsten 
only  to  their  own  public  men,  men  of  the  "West"  only  to 
theirs.  We  speak  of  the  "West"  as  out  of  sympathy  with 
the  "East":  it  would  be  instructive  once  and  again  to  reverse 
the  terms,  and  admit  that  the  "East"  neither  understands 
nor  sympathizes  with  the  "West"— and  thorough  nationah- 
zation  depends  upon  mutual  understandings  and  sympathies. 
There  is  an  unpleasant  significance  in  the  fact  that  the  *'East" 
has  made  no  serious  attempt  to  understand  the  desire  for 
the  free  coinage  of  silver  in  the  "West"  and  the  South.  If 
it  were  once  really  probed  and  comprehended,  we  should 
know  that  it  is  necessary  to  reform  our  currency  at  once,  and 
we  should  know  in  what  way  it  is  necessary  to  reform  it ;  we 
should  know  that  a  new  protective  tariff  only  marks  with  a 
XI  [i8] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

new  emphasis  the  contrast  in  economic  interest  between  the 
"East"  and  the  "West,"  and  that  nothing  but  currency  re- 
form can  touch  the  cause  of  the  present  discontents. 

Ignorance  and  indifference  as  between  section  and  sec- 
tion no  man  need  wonder  at  who  knows  the  habitual  courses 
of  history;  and  no  one  who  comprehends  the  essential  sound- 
ness of  our  people's  life  can  mistrust  the  future  of  the  nation. 
He  may  confidently  expect  a  safe  nationalization  of  in- 
terest and  policy  in  the  end,  whatever  folly  of  experiment 
and  fitful  change  he  may  fear  in  the  mean  while.  He  can 
only  wonder  that  we  should  continue  to  leave  ourselves  so 
utterly  without  adequate  means  of  formulating  a  national 
policy.  Certainly  Providence  has  presided  over  our  affairs 
with  a  strange  indulgence,  if  it  is  true  that  Providence  helps 
only  those  who  first  seek  to  help  themselves.  The  making 
of  a  nation  has  never  been  a  thing  deliberately  planned  and 
consummated  by  the  counsel  and  authority  of  leaders,  but 
the  daily  conduct  and  policy  of  a  nation  which  has  won  its 
place  must  be  so  planned.  So  far  we  have  had  the  hope- 
fulness, the  readiness,  and  the  hardihood  of  youth  in  these 
matters,  and  have  never  become  fully  conscious  of  the  posi- 
tion into  which  our  peculiar  frame  of  government  has  brought 
us.  We  have  waited  a  whole  century  to  observe  that  we 
have  made  no  provision  for  authoritative  national  leader- 
ship .  in  matters  of  policy.  The  President  does  not  always 
speak  with  authority,  because  he  is  not  always  a  man  picked 
out  and  tested  by  any  processes  in  which  the  people  have 
been  participants,  and  has  nothing  often  but  his  office  to 
render  him  influential.  Even  when  the  country  does  know 
and  trust  him,  he  can  carry  his  views  no  further  than  to 
recommend  them  to  the  attention  of  Congress  in  a  written 
message  which  the  Houses  would  deem  themselves  subservient 
to  give  too  much  heed  to.  Within  the  Houses  there  is  no 
man,  except  the  Vice-President,  to  whose  choice  the  whole 
country  gives  heed;  and  he  is  chosen,  not  to  be  a  Senator, 
but  only  to  wait  upon  the  disability  of  the  President,  and 
preside  meanwhile  over  a  body  of  which  he  is  not  a  member. 
The  House  of  Representatives  has  in  these  latter  days  made 
its  Speaker  its  political  leader  as  well  as  its  parliamentary 
XI  [19] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

moderator;  but  the  country  is,  of  course,  never  consulted 
about  that  beforehand,  and  his  leadership  is  not  the  open 
leadership  of  discussion,  but  the  undebatable  leadership  of 
the  parliamentary  autocrat. 

This  singular  leaderless  structure  of  our  government  never 
stood  fully  revealed  until  the  present  generation,  and  even 
now  awaits  general  recognition.  Peculiar  circumstances  and 
the  practical  political  habit  and  sagacity  of  our  people  for 
long  concealed  it.  The  framers  of  the  Constitution  no  doubt 
expected  the  President  and  his  advisers  to  exercise  a  real 
leadership  in  affairs,  and  for  more  than  a  generation  after 
the  setting  up  of  the  government  their  expectation  was  ful- 
filled. Washington  was  accepted  as  leader  no  less  by  Con- 
gress than  by  the  people.  Hamilton,  from  the  Treasury, 
really  gave  the  government  both  its  policy  and  its  adminis- 
trative structure.  If  John  Adams  had  less  authority  than 
Washington,  it  was  because  the  party  he  represented  was  losing 
its  hold  upon  the  country.  Jefferson  was  the  most  consum- 
mate party  chief,  the  most  unchecked  master  of  legislative 
policy,  we  have  had  in  America,  and  his  dynasty  was  continued 
in  Madison  and  Monroe.  But  Madison's  terms  saw  Clay 
and  Calhoun  come  to  the  front  in  the  House,  and  many  another 
man  of  the  new  generation,  ready  to  guide  and  coach  the  Presi- 
dent rather  than  to  be  absolutely  controlled  by  him.  Mon- 
roe was  not  of  the  calibre  of  his  predecessors,  and  no  party 
could  rally  about  so  stiff  a  man,  so  cool  a  partisan,  as  John 
Quincy  Adams.  And  so  the  old  poHtical  function  of  the  presi- 
dency came  to  an  end,  and  it  was  left  for  Jackson  to  give  it 
a  new  one — instead  of  a  leadership  of  counsel,  a  leadership 
and  discipline  by  rewards  and  punishments.  Then  the  slavery 
issue  began  to  dominate  poHtics,  and  a  long  season  of  con- 
centrated passion  brought  individual  men  of  force  into  power 
in  Congress — natural  leaders  of  men  hke  Clay,  trained  and 
eloquent  advocates  like  Webster,  keen  debaters  with  a  logic 
whose  thrusts  were  as  sharp  as  those  of  cold  steel  like  Cal- 
houn. The  war  made  the  Executive  of  necessity  the  nation's 
leader  again,  with  the  great  Lincoln  at  its  head,  who  seemed 
to  embody,  with  a  touch  of  genius,  the  very  character  of  the 
race  itself.  Then  reconstruction  came — under  whose  leader- 
XI  [  20  ] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

ship  who  could  say  ? — and  we  were  left  to  wonder  what,  hence- 
forth, in  the  days  of  ordinary  peace  and  industry,  we  were  to 
make  of  a  government  which  could  in  humdrum  times  yield 
us  no  leadership  at  all.  The  tasks  which  confront  us  now 
are  not  like  those  which  centred  in  the  war,  in  which  passion 
made  men  run  together  to  a  common  work.  Heaven  forbid 
that  we  should  admit  any  element  of  passion  into  the  delicate 
matters  in  which  national  poHcy  must  mediate  between  the  dif- 
fering economic  interests  of  sections  which  a  wise  moderation 
will  assuredly  unite  in  the  ways  of  harmony  and  peace !  We 
shall  need,  not  the  mere  compromises  of  Clay,  but  a  construct- 
ive leadership  of  which  Clay  hardly  showed  himself  capable. 
There  are  few  things  more  disconcerting  to  the  thought, 
in  any  effort  to  forecast  the  future  of  our  affairs,  than  the  fact 
that  we  must  continue  to  take  our  executive  policy  from  presi- 
dents given  us  by  nominating  conventions,  and  our  legislation 
from  conference  committees  of  the  House  and  Senate.  Evi- 
dently it  is  a  purely  providential  form  of  government.  We 
should  never  have  had  Lincoln  for  President  had  not  the  Re- 
publican convention  of  i860  sat  in  Chicago,  and  felt  the  weight 
of  the  galleries  in  its  work — and  one  does  not  like  to  think 
what  might  have  happened  had  Mr.  Seward  been  nominated. 
We  might  have  had  Mr.  Bryan  for  President,  because  of  the 
impression  which  may  be  made  upon  an  excited  assembly  by 
a  good  voice  and  a  few  ringing  sentences  flung  forth  just  after 
a  cold  man  who  gave  unpalatable  counsel  had  sat  down.  The 
country  knew  absolutely  nothing  about  Mr.  Bryan  before  his 
nomination,  and  it  would  not  have  known  anything  about 
him  afterward  had  he  not  chosen  to  make  speeches.  It  was 
not  Mr.  McKinley,  but  Mr.  Reed,  who  was  the  real  leader 
of  the  RepubHcan  party.  It  has  become  a  commonplace 
among  us  that  conventions  prefer  dark  horses — prefer  those 
who  are  not  tested  leaders  with  well-known  records,  to  those 
who  are.  It  has  become  a  commonplace  among  all  nations 
which  have  tried  popular  institutions,  that  the  actions  of  such 
bodies  as  our  nominating  conventions  are  subject  to  the  play 
of  passion  and  of  chance.  They  meet  to  do  a  single  thing — 
for  the  platform  is  really  left  to  a  committee — and  upon  that 
one  thing  all  intrigue  centres.  Who  that  has  witnessed  them 
XI  [21] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

will  ever  forget  the  intense  night  scenes,  the  feverish  recesses, 
of  our  nominating  conventions,  when  there  is  a  running  to  and 
fro  of  agents  from  delegation  to  delegation,  and  every  can- 
didate has  his  busy  headquarters — can  ever  forget  the  shout- 
ing and  almost  frenzied  masses  on  the  floor  of  the  hall  when 
the  convention  is  in  session,  swept  this  way  and  that  by  every 
wind  of  sudden  feeling,  impatient  of  debate,  incapable  of  de- 
liberation? When  a  convention's  brief  work  is  over,  its  own 
members  can  scarcely  remember  the  plan  and  order  of  it. 
They  go  home  unmarked,  and  sink  into  the  general  body  of 
those  who  have  nothing  to  do  with  .the  conduct  of  government. 
They  cannot  be  held  responsible  if  their  candidate  fails  in 
his  attempt  to  carry  on  the  Executive. 

It  has  not  often  happened  that  candidates  for  the  presi- 
dency have  been  chosen  from  outside  the  ranks  of  those  who 
have  seen  service  in  national  politics.  Congress  is  apt  to  be 
peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  exercise  of  executive  authority  by 
men  who  have  not  at  some  time  been  members  of  the  one  House 
or  the  other,  and  so  learned  to  sympathize  with  members' 
views  as  to  the  relations  that  ought  to  exist  between  the  Presi- 
dent and  the  federal  legislature.  No  doubt  a  good  deal  of 
the  disHke  which  the  Houses  early  conceived  for  Mr.  Cleve- 
land was  due  to  the  feeHng  that  he  was  an  "outsider,"  a  man 
without  congressional  sympathies  and  points  of  view — a  sort 
of  irregular  and  amateur  at  the  deHcate  game  of  national 
poHtics  as  played  at  Washington;  most  of  the  men  whom  he 
chose  as  advisers  were  of  the  same  kind,  without  Washing- 
ton credentials.  Mr.  McKinley,  though  of  the  congressional 
circle  himself,  repeated  the  experiment  in  respect  of  his  cabi- 
net in  the  appointment  of  such  men  as  Mr.  Gage  and  Mr. 
BHss  and  Mr.  Gary.  Members  resent  such  appointments; 
they  .seem  to  drive  the  two  branches  of  the  government  further 
apart  than  ever,  and  yet  they  grow  more  common  from  ad- 
ministration to  administration. 

These  appointments  make  cooperation  between  Congress 
and  the  Executive  more  difficult,  not  because  the  men  thus 
appointed  lack  respect  for  the  Houses  or  seek  to  gain  any 
advantage  over  them,  but  because  they  do  not  know  how  to 
deal  with  them — through  what  persons  and  by  what  cour- 
XI  [22] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

tesies  of  approach.  To  the  uninitiated  Congress  is  simply 
a  mass  of  individuals.  It  has  no  responsible  leaders  known 
to  the  system  of  government,  and  the  leaders  recognized  by 
its  rules  are  one  set  of  individuals  for  one  sort  of  legislation, 
another  for  another.  The  Secretaries  cannot  address  or  ap- 
proach either  House  as  a  whole;  in  deahng  with  committees 
they  are  deahng  only  with  groups  of  individuals;  neither  party 
has  its  leader — there  are  only  influential  men  here  and  there 
who  know  how  to  manage  its  caucuses  and  take  advantage 
of  parUamentary  openings  on  the  floor.  There  is  a  master 
in  the  House,  as  every  member  very  well  knows,  and  even 
the  easy-going  public  are  beginning  to  observe.  The  Speaker 
appoints  the  committees;  the  committees  practically  frame 
all  legislation;  the  Speaker,  accordingly,  gives  or  withholds 
legislative  power  and  opportunity,  and  members  are  granted 
influence  or  deprived  of  it  much  as  he  pleases.  He  of  course 
administers  the  ruleSj  and  the  rules  are  framed  to  prevent 
debate  and  individual  initiative.  He  can  refuse  recognition 
for  the  introduction  of  measures  he  disapproves  of  as  party 
chief;  he  may  make  way  for  those  he  desires  to  see  passed. 
He  is  chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Rules,  by  which  the 
House  submits  to  be  governed  (for  fear  of  helplessness  and 
chaos)  in  the  arrangement  of  its  business  and  the  apportion- 
ment of  its  time.  In  brief,  he  is  not  only  its  moderator,  but 
its  master.  New  members  protest  and  write  fo  the  news- 
papers; but  old  members  submit — and  indeed  the  Speaker's 
power  is  inevitable.  You  must  have  leaders  in  a  numerous 
body — leaders  with  authority;  and  you  cannot  give  authority 
in  the  House  except  through  the  rules.  The  man  who  ad- 
ministers the  rules  must  be  master,  and  you  must  put  this 
mastery  into  the  hands  of  your  best  party  leader.  The  legis- 
lature being  separated  from  the  executive  branch  of  the  gov- 
ernment, the  only  rewards  and  punishments  by  which  you 
can  secure  party  discipline  are  those  within  the  gift  of  the 
rules — the  committee  appointments  and  preferences:  you  can- 
not administer  these  by  election;  party  government  would 
break  down  in  the  midst  of  personal  exchanges  of  electoral 
favors.  Here  again  you  must  trust  the  Speaker  to  organize 
and  choose,  and  your  only  party  leader  is  your  moderator. 
XI  [23] 


OUR  COUNTRY 

He  does  not  lead  by  debate;  he  explains,  he  proposes  nothing 
to  the  country;    you  learn  his  will  in  his  ruHngs. 

It  is  with  such  machinery  that  we  are  to  face  the  future, 
find  a  wise  and  moderate  poHcy,  bring  the  nation  to  a  com- 
mon, a  cordial  understanding,  a  real  unity  of  life.  The  Presi- 
dent can  lead  only  as  he  can  command  the  ear  of  both  Con- 
gress and  the  country — only  as  any  other  individual  might 
who  could  secure  a  hke  general  hearing  and  acquiescence. 
PoHcy  must  come  always  from  the  deliberations  of  the  House 
committees,  the  debates,  both  secret  and  open,  of  the  Senate, 
the  compromises  of  committee  conference  between  the  Houses; 
no  one  man,  no  group  of  men,  leading;  no  man,  no  group 
of  men,  responsible  for  the  outcome.  Unquestionably  we 
beheve  in  a  guardian  destiny!  No  other  race  could  have  ac- 
complished so  much  with  such  a  system;  no  other  race  would 
have  dared  risk  such  an  experiment.  We  shall  work  out  a 
remedy,  for  work  it  out  we  must.  We  must  find  or  make, 
somewhere  in  our  system,  a  group  of  men  to  lead  us,  who  rep- 
resent the  nation  in  the  origin  and  responsibihty  of  their  power; 
who  shall  draw  the  Executive,  which  makes  choice  of  foreign 
policy  and  upon  whose  abihty  and  good  faith  the  honorable 
execution  of  the  laws  depends,  into  cordial  cooperation  with 
the  legislature,  which,  under  whatever  form  of  government, 
must  sanction  law  and  pohcy.  Only  under  a  national  leader- 
ship, by  a  national  selection  of  leaders,  and  by  a  method  of  con- 
structive choice  rather  than  of  compromise  and  barter,  can  a 
various  nation  be  peacefully  led.  Once  more  is  our  problem 
of  nation-making  the  problem  of  a  form  of  government.  Shall 
we  show  the  sagacity,  the  open-mindedness,  the  moderation, 
in  our  task  of  modification,  that  were  shown  under  Wash- 
ington and  Madison  and  Sherman  and  Frankhn  and  Wilson, 
in  the  task  of  construction? 


XI  [  24  ] 


XII 


(( 


PATRIOTISM  AND  POLITICS" 


BY 


HIS  EMINENCE  CARDINAL  GIBBONS 

CHIEF    PRELATE    OF    THE    ROMAN    CATHOLIC    CHURCH    IN    AMERICA 


PRESIDENT  WILSON  has  shown  us  the  steps  by  which 
•^  our  country  has  become  the  mighty  and  happy  land  it  is. 
Let  us  look  now  to  the  spirit  which  has  made  it  great,  to  the  pa- 
triotism which  has  guided  and  inspired  its  advance.  Let  us, 
moreover,  consider  this  patriotism  in  no  idle  mood  of  joy,  or  pride, 
or  selj-gratulation.  Rather  must  we  study  thoughtfully  the  means 
by  which  love  of  country  has  been  roused  in  the  past.  We  must 
seek  the  root  of  the  emotions  from  which  so  fair  a  flower  blooms; 
we  must  examine  the  meaning  of  this  inspiring  power  which  we 
have  all  seen  in  action,  this  undeniable  spiritual  force.  We 
must  aim  to  find  why  God  implanted  it  in  the  heart  of  man.  If 
in  this  search  we  become  convinced  of  patriotism's  high  worth, 
we  must  then  question  what  dangers  threaten  it,  what  means  shall 
be  taken  to  preserve  it  and  to  stimulate  it  to  yet  greater  strength 
of  inspiration  in  the  coming  years. 

For  this  search,  less  simple  than  perchance  it  seems,  let  us 
accept  the  guidance  of  that  distinguished  prelate  who  stands  at 
the  head  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  in  America.  However 
widely  many  of  us  may  differ  from  Cardinal  Gibbons  in  matters 
of  religious  faith,  yet  his  pure,  strong,  simple  life  has  won  him 
the  respect  of  all.  His  steady  influence  in  ^^Americanizing'''  the 
Catholic  Church  marks  him  as  a  friend  of  liberty.  And  his 
ever-widening  fame  guarantees  that  any  written  word  of  his  will 
be  flailed  full  with  a  broad  knowledge,  a  high  wisdom,  and  a  prac- 
tical common-sense. 

XII  [  I  ] 


*' PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

I  HAVE  no  apology  to  make  for  offering  some  reflections  on 
the  political  outlook  of  the  nation;  for  my  rights  as  a  citizen 
were  not  abdicated  or  abridged  on  becoming  a  Christian  prel- 
ate, and  the  sacred  character  which  I  profess,  far  from  lessen- 
ing, rather  increases,  my  obligations  to  my  country. 

In  answer  to  those  who  affirm  that  a  churchman  is  not  quali- 
fied to  discuss  poHtics,  by  reason  of  his  sacred  calHng,  which 
removes  him  from  the  pohtical  arena,  I  would  say  that  this 
statement  may  be  true  in  the  sense  that  a  clergyman  as  such 
should  not  be  a  heated  partisan  of  any  political  party;  but  it 
is  not  true  in  the  sense  that  he  is  unfitted  by  his  sacred  profes- 
sion for  discussing  pohtical  principles.  His  very  seclusion  from 
popular  agitation  gives  him  a  vantage-ground  over  those  that 
are  in  the  whirlpool  of  party  strife,  just  as  they,  who  have  never 
witnessed  Shakespeare's  plays  performed  on  the  stage,  are 
better  quahfied  to  judge  of  the  genius  of  the  author  and  the 
literary  merit  of  his  productions  than  they  who  witness  the 
plays  amid  the  environment  of  stage  scenery. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  write  not  merely  as  a  church- 
man, but  as  a  citizen;  not  in  a  partisan,  but  in  a  patriotic, 
spirit;  not  in  advocacy  of  any  particular  party,  but  in  vindica- 
tion of  pure  government.  There  is  a  moral  side  to  most  pohti- 
cal questions;  and  my  purpose  here  is  to  consider  the  ethical 
aspect  of  politics,  and  the  principles  of  justice  by  which  they 
should  be  regulated. 

Every  man  in  the  Commonwealth  leads  a  dual  life — a  pri- 
vate Kf e  under  the  shadow  of  the  home,  and  a  pubhc  life  under 
the  aegis  of  the  State.  As  a  father,  a  husband,  or  a  son,  he 
owes  certain  duties  to  the  family ;  as  a  citizen,  he  owes  certain 
obligations  to  his  country.  These  civic  virtues  are  all  com- 
prised under  the  generic  name,  patriotism. 

Patriotism  means  love  of  country.  Its  root  is  the  Latin 
word  patria,  sl  word  not  domesticated  in  EngHsh.  The  French 
have  it  in  patrie;  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  Teutonic  races  have  it 
literally  translated  in  Fatherland.  ''Fatherland,"  says  Cicero, 
"is  the  common  parent  of  us  all:  Patria  est  communis  omnium 
nostrum  parens^^    It   is   the   parental   home   extended,    the 

^  See  Cicero's  De  Finibus,  III.,  p.  19. 
XII  [  2  ] 


"PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

family  reaching  out  to  the  city,  the  province,  the  country. 
Hence,  with  us  Fatherland  and  Country  have  come  to  be  synony- 
mous. Country  in  this  sense  comprises  two  elements,  the  soil 
itself,  and  the  men  who  Hve  thereon.  We  love  the  soil  in  which 
our  fathers  sleep — terra  patrum,  terra  patria,  the  land  in  which 
we  were  born.  We  love  the  men  who  as  fellow-dwellers  share 
that  land  with  us.  When,  not  long  ago,  Dom  Pedro,  the  exiled 
Emperor  of  Brazil,  died  in  Paris,  he  was  laid  to  his  last  sleep 
on  BraziHan  soil,  which  he  had  carried  away  with  him  for  that 
very  purpose.  Let  a  citizen  from  Maine  meet  a  citizen  from 
Cahfornia  on  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus  or  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tiber,  they  will,  at  once,  forget  that  at  home  they  dwelt 
three  thousand  miles  apart.  State  Hnes  are  obHterated,  party 
differences  are  laid  aside,  rehgious  animosities,  if  such  had 
existed,  are  extinguished.  They  warmly  clasp  hands,  they 
remember  only  that  they  are  fellow- American  citizens,  children 
of  the  same  mother,  fellow-dwellers  in  the  same  land  over 
which  floats  the  star-spangled  banner. 

Patriotism  imphes  not  only  love  of  soil  and  of  fellow- citi- 
zens, but  also,  and  principally,  attachment  to  the  laws,  institu- 
tions, and  government  of  one's  country;  fihal  admiration  of 
the  heroes,  statesmen,  and  men  of  genius,  who  have  contributed 
to  its  renown  by  the  valor  of  their  arms,  the  wisdom  of  their 
counsel,  or  their  Hterary  fame.  It  includes,  also,  an  ardent 
zeal  for  the  maintenance  of  those  sacred  principles  that  secure 
to  the  citizen  freedom  of  conscience,  and  an  earnest  determi- 
nation to  consecrate  his  life,  if  necessary,  pro  arts  et  focis  (in 
defence  of  altar  and  fireside),  of  God  and  Fatherland.  Pa- 
triotism is  a  universal  sentiment  of  the  race : 

"Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

'  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land ! '  " 

A  certain  philosophical  school  has  taught  that  love  of  country 
has  its  origin  in  physical  comfort.  Ibi  patria  ubi  bene.  But 
is  it  not  true  that  one's  country  becomes  dear  in  proportion  to 
the  sufferings  endured  for  it  ?  Have  not  the  sacrifices  of  our 
wars  developed  the  patriotism  of  the  American?  In  fact,  it 
is  the  most  suffering  and  persecuted  races  that  are  endowed 
xn  [3] 


"PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

with  the  deepest  patriotism.  We  may  even  go  so  far  as  to  say 
that  the  rougher  the  soil,  the  harsher  the  chmate,  the  greater 
the  material  privations  of  a  land,  the  more  intense  is  the  love 
of  its  inhabitants  for  it.  Witness  the  Irish  peasant.  And  are 
not  the  Swiss  in  their  narrow  valleys  and  on  their  steep  moun- 
tain-sides, the  Scotch  on  their  rugged  Highlands  the  classic 
models  of  patriotism?  Nay,  the  Eskimo,  amid  the  perpet- 
ual snows  that  hide  from  his  eyes  every  green  spot  of  earth,  loves 
his  home  nor  dreams  of  a  fairer. 

Patriotism  is  not  a  sentiment  born  of  material  and  physical 
well-being;  it  is  a  sentiment  that  the  poverty  of  country  and 
the  discomforts  of  climate  do  not  diminish,  that  the  inlEiictions 
of  conquest  and  despotism  do  not  augment.  The  truth  is,  it  is 
a  rational  instinct  placed  by  the  Creator  in  the  breast  of  man. 
When  God  made  man  a  social  being.  He  gave  him  a  sentiment 
that  urges  him  to  sacrifice  himself  for  his  family  and  his  country, 
which  is,  as  it  were,  his  larger  family.  "Dear  are  ancestors, 
dear  are  children,  dear  are  relatives  and  friends;  all  these 
loves  are  contained  in  love  of  country."  ^ 

The  Roman  was  singularly  devoted  to  his  country.  Civis 
Romanus  sum  (I  am  a  citizen  of  Rome)  was  his  proudest  boast. 
He  justly  gloried  in  being  a  citizen  of  a  repubHc  conspicuous 
for  its  centuries  of  endurance,  for  the  valor  of  its  soldiers,  for 
the  wisdom  of  its  statesmen  and  the  genius  of  its  writers.  One 
of  its  greatest  poets  has  sung:  "It  is  sweet  and  honorable  to 
die  for  one's  country."^  So  execrable  was  the  crime  of  treason 
regarded,  that  the  traitor  not  only  suffered  extreme  penalties 
in  this  Hfe,  but  he  is  consigned  after  death  by  Virgil  to  the  most 
gloomy  regions  of  Tartarus.  ^ 

Love  of  country  shows  itself  in  the  citizen  by  the  observance 
of  law  and  the  good  use  of  poHtical  rights;  and  in  those  that, 
for  the  time  being,  govern,  by  justice  and  disinterestedness  in 
their  administration.  Ministers  of  reHgion  manifest  their  pa- 
triotism, not  only  as  citizens,  but  also  as  spiritual  teachers  and 

^  Cari  sunt  parentes,  cari  liberi,  propinqui,  familiares,  sed  omnes 
omnium  caritates  patria  una  complexa  est.      (Cicero,  De  Off.,  I.,  17.) 

2  Dulce  et  decorum  pro  patria  mori.     (Horace,  B.  III.,  Ode  II.) 

3  See  Virgil's  /Eneid,  Book  VI. 

XII  [  4  ] 


** PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

leaders  of  the  people,  by  inculcating  the  religious,  moral,  and 
civic  virtues,  and  by  prayer  to  the  throne  of  God  for  the  welfare 
of  the  land.  "I  desire,  therefore,"  wrote  St.  Paul  to  his  dis- 
ciple Timothy,  "first  of  all  that  suppHcations,  prayers,  inter- 
cessions, and  thanksgivings  be  made  for  all  men;  for  kings  and 
for  all  that  are  in  high  station,  that  we  may  lead  a  quiet  and 
peaceable  life  in  all  piety  and  chastity;  for  this  is  good  and 
acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God  our  Saviour."  * 

The  Catholic  Church  in  our  country  is  not  unmindful  of 
this  duty.  A  prayer  composed  by  Archbishop  Carroll  to  beg 
Heaven's  blessing  on  the  land  and  its  rulers,  a  masterpiece  of 
liturgical  Hterature,  is  recited  every  Sunday  at  the  solemn  ser- 
vice in  some  parts  of  the  United  States,  and  notably  in  the 
Cathedral  at  Baltimore,  in  which  the  custom  has  never  ceased 
since  it  was  introduced  by  Baltimore's  first  Archbishop  over  one 
hundred  years  ago. 

To  the  soldier,  patriotism  has  inspired  the  most  heroic 
deeds  of  courage  and  self-sacrifice.  The  victories  of  Dcbora, 
Judith,  and  Gedeon,  achieved  for  God  and  country,  are  re- 
corded with  praise  in  Sacred  Scripture. 

The  stand  of  Leonidas  in  the  pass  of  Thermopylae  with 
his  three  hundred  Spartans  against  the  milHon  Persians  of 
Xerxes ;  the  boldness  of  his  answer  to  the  Oriental  monarch's 
summons  to  lay  down  arms,  "Let  him  come  and  take  them"; 
the  recklessness  of  his  reply  to  the  threat  that  so  numerous 
were  his  foes  that  the  very  heavens  would  be  darkened  by 
their  arrows,  '"Tis  well.  We  shall  fight  in  the  shade";  the 
fierce  battle;  the  fall  of  almost  all  the  Grecian  heroes;  the 
total  defeat  of  the  Persian  host — are  commonplaces  of  history, 
are  themes  of  the  schoolroom.  That  day  ranks  among  the 
great  days  of  the  world.  Had  Xerxes  triumphed,  Europe  had 
become  Asiatic,  and  the  trend  of  history  had  been  changed. 

The  three  calls  of  Cincinnatus  to  the  Dictatorship  from 
the  soHtude  and  cultivation  of  his  Sabine  farm,  his  three  tri- 
umphs over  the  enemies  of  the  RepubHc,  kindled  not  in  his 
breast  the  fire  of  pohtical  ambition.  When  the  foe  was  re- 
pelled and  his  country  needed  him  no  longer,  he  laid  down  the 
1  See  Timothy,  II . ,  1-3 , 

XII  [  5  ] 


''PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

sword  of  command  for  the  plough,  left  "the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance" of  the  camp  for  the  quiet  of  his  rural  homestead,  like 
him  whose  grave  hallows  the  hillside  of  Mount  Vernon — two  not- 
able instances  of  patriotism,  making  men  great  in  peace  no  less 
than  in  w^ar.  Need  I  recall  to  my  readers  Regulus,  Horatius 
Codes,  Brutus,  the  first  consul,  whose  heroic  and  patriotic  deeds 
have  been  the  exultant  theme  of  the  classic  authors  of  Rome  ? 

Patriotism  finds  outward  and,  so  to  say,  material  expres- 
sion, in  respect  for  the  flag  that  symboHzcs  the  country,  and 
for  the  chief  magistrate  who  represents  it.  Perhaps  it  is  only 
when  an  American  travels  abroad  that  he  fully  reahzes  how 
deep-rooted  is  his  love  for  his  native  country.  The  sentiment 
of  patriotism,  which  may  be  dormant  at  home,  is  aroused  and 
quickened  in  foreign  lands.  The  sight  of  an  American  flag 
flying  from  the  mast  of  a  ship  in  mid- ocean  or  in  some  foreign 
port  awakes  unwonted  emotion  and  enthusiasm. 

The  interest  which  an  American  feels  in  a  presidential  elec- 
tion, or  in  any  other  important  domestic  event,  is  intensified 
when  he  is  abroad.  When  I  was  traveUing  through  the  Tyrol, 
in  1880, 1  had  a  natural  desire  to  find  out  who  had  been  nomi- 
nated for  the  Presidency;  but  in  that  country  news  travels 
slowly.  On  reaching  Innspruck,  I  learned  that  Mr.  Garfield 
was  the  nominee.  I  got  my  information  from  an  American 
student  buried  in  the  cloisters  of  a  seminary,  to  whom  the  out- 
side world  was  apparently  dead.  I  never  discovered,  and  I 
dare  say  his  professors  never  knew,  how  he  obtained  his  infor- 
mation.    But  the  news  was  correct. 

Americans  are  in  the  habit  of  visiting  Rome  every  year 
in  large  numbers.  The  greater  part  of  them  on  their  ariival 
instinctively  repair  to  the  American  College.  Perhaps,  the  name 
of  the  college  attracts  them;  perhaps,  also,  the  consciousness 
that  they  will  hear  their  mother-tongue.  And  when  they  enter 
its  portals,  where  they  are  always  sure  to  find  a  warm  welcome 
from  the  genial  rector,  their  eyes  are  gladdened  by  the  f amihar 
features  of  the  "  Father  of  his  Country." 

Love  of  country,  as  I  have  described  it,  which  is  funda- 
mentally an  ethical  sentiment,  and  which  was  such  in  all  nations, 
even  before  Christian  Revelation  was  given  to  the  world,  and 
XII  [  6  ] 


"PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

which  is  such  to-day  among  nations  that  have  not  heard  the 
Christian  message,  is  elevated,  ennobled,  and  perfected  by  the 
religion  of  Christ.  Patriotism  in  non- Christian  times  and  races 
has  inspired  heroism  even  unto  death.  We  do  not  pretend 
that  Christian  patriotism  can  do  more.  But  v^e  do  say  that 
Christianity  has  given  to  patriotism,  and  to  the  sacrifices  it 
demands,  nobler  motives  and  higher  ideals. 

If  the  virtue  of  patriotism  was  held  in  such  esteem  by  pagan 
Greece  and  Rome,  guided  only  by  the  light  of  reason,  how 
much  more  should  it  be  cherished  by.  Christians,  instructed  as 
they  are  by  the  voice  of  Revelation!  The  Founder  of  the 
Christian  religion  has  ennobled  and  sanctified  loyalty  to  coun- 
try by  the  influence  of  His  example  and  the  force  of  His  teaching. 

When  St.  Peter  was  asked  by  the  tax-collector  whether  his 
Master  should  pay  the  tribute  money  or  not,  he  replied  in  the 
affirmative,  and  the  penniless  Master  wrought  a  miracle  to 
secure  the  payment  of  the  money,  though  He  was  exempt  from 
the  obHgation  by  reason  of  His  poverty  and  his  divine  origin; 
for  if  the  sons  of  kings  are  free  from  taxation,  as  Christ  Him- 
self remarked  on  that  occasion,  the  Son  of  the  King  of  kings 
had  certainly  a  higher  claim  to  exemption. 

The  Herodians  questioned  Jesus  whether  or  not  it  was 
lawful  to  pay  tribute  to  Caesar.  By  this  question  they  sought 
to  ensnare  Him  in  His  words.  If  He  admitted  the  obHgation, 
He  would  have  aroused  the  indignation  of  the  Jews,  who  deemed 
it  unlawful  to  pay  tribute  to  a  Gentile  and  idolatrous  ruler. 
If,  on  the  other  hand.  He  denied  the  obHgation,  He  would  have 
incurred  the  vengeance  of  Rome.  He  made  this  memorable  re- 
ply, which  silenced  His  adversaries : "  Render  to  Caesar  the  things 
which  are  Caesar's,  and  to  God  the  things  which  are  God's." 

The  Apostles  echo  the  voice  of  their  Master.  ''Let  every 
soul  be  subject  to  higher  powers;  for  there  is  no  power  but 
from  God.  Therefore,  he  who  resisteth  the  power,  resisteth 
the  ordinance  of  God ;  and  they  who  resist,  purchase  for  them- 
selves damnation.  Render,  therefore,  to  all  their  dues:  trib- 
ute to  whom  tribute  is  due;  custom  to  whom  custom;  fear 
to  whom  fear;  honor  to  whom  honor." ^  "Be  ye  subject  to 
1  Romans,  XIII. 
XII  [  7  J 


''PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

every  authority  for  God's  sake,  whether  to  the  king  as  ex- 
ceUing,  or  to  governors  as  sent  by  him  for  the  punishment  of 
evil-doers,  and  for  the  praise  of  those  vv^ho  do  wcU."^  This 
short  sentence,  "There  is  no  authority  but  from  God,"  has 
contributed  more  effectually  to  the  stability  of  nations  and  to 
the  peace  and  order  of  society  than  standing  armies  and  all 
the  volumes  ever  written  on  the  principles  of  government.  It 
ennobles  obedience  to  constituted  authority  by  representing  it, 
not  as  an  act  of  servility  to  man,  but  of  homage  to  God.  It 
sheds  a  halo  around  rulers  and  magistrates  by  holding  them 
up  to  us  as  the  representatives  of  God.  It  invests  all  legitimate 
laws  with  a  divine  sanction  by  an  appeal  to  our  conscience. 

If  the  Apostles  and  the  primitive  Christians  had  so  much 
reverence  for  the  civil  magistrates  in  whose  election  they  cer- 
tainly had  no  voice;  and  if  they  were  so  conscientious  in  ob- 
serving the  laws  of  the  Roman  Empire,  which  often  inflicted 
on  them  odious  pains  and  disabihties,  how  much  more  respect 
should  the  American  citizen  entertain  for  the  civil  rulers  in 
whose  election  he  actively  participates!  With  what  alacrity 
should  he  fulfil  the  laws  which  are  framed  solely  for  his  peace 
and  protection  and  for  the  welfare  of  the  Commonwealth ! 

The  deification  of  the  State  in  pagan  times  rested  on  a 
principle  contrary  to  reason,  and  exacted  sacrifices  destructive 
of  the  moral  worth  of  the  citizen.  The  State  absorbed  the 
individual.  It  was  held  to  be  the  proprietor  and  master  of  the 
citizen,  who  was  only  an  instrument  in  its  hand,  to  be  used, 
cast  aside,  or  broken  at  will.  Christianity  knows  how  to  con- 
ciliate patriotism  with  the  exigencies  of  man's  personal  dignity. 
Social  perfection,  or  civihzation,  is  in  that  form  of  government 
that  secures  to  its  members  the  greater  facihty  for  pursuing 
and  attaining  their  end  in  life.  That  is  the  Christian  notion 
of  the  State,  and  the  American  also,  as  laid  down  in  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence.  It  is  stated  therein  that  government  is 
for  the  citizen,  to  secure  to  him  his  inahenable  rights — that  is 
to  say,  rights  that  are  his  and  are  inalienable  by  virtue  of  the 
supreme  end  marked  out  for  him  by  the  Creator. 

Again,  unlike  pagan  civihzation,  which  despised  the  for- 

Peter,  II. 

XII  [  8  ] 


''PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

eigner  as  a  barbarian  and  a  foe,  Christian  and  American  civili- 
zation sees  its  ideal  in  that  universal  charity  revealed  to  the 
world  by  Christ,  who  came  to  teach  the  brotherhood  of  all  men 
in  the  Fatherhood  of  the  One  God.  Patriotism  and  cosmo- 
pohtism  are  not  incompatible  in  the  Christian.  They  find  a 
model  in  the  rehgious  order,  in  the  Catholicity  and  unity  of  the 
Church.  And  even  in  the  poHtical  order,  the  United  States 
offers  a  miniature  picture  of  the  brotherly  federation  of  nations 
— forty-five  sovereign  States,  sovereign  and  independent  as  to 
their  internal  existence,  yet  presenting  to  the  rest  of  the  world 
a  national  unity  in  the  federal  government. 

And,  indeed,  when  we  reflect  on  the  happiness  and  mani- 
fold temporal  blessings  which  our  poKtical  institutions  have 
already  conferred,  and  are  destined  in  the  future  to  confer,  on 
millions  of  people,  we  are  not  surprised  that  the  American 
citizen  is  proud  of  his  country,  her  history,  and  the  record  of 
her  statesmen. 

Therefore,  next  to  God,  our  country  should  hold  the  strongest 
place  in  our  affections.  Impressed,  as  we  ought  to  be,  with  a 
profound  sense  of  the  blessings  which  our  system  of  govern- 
ment continues  to  bestow  on  us,  we  shall  have  a  corresponding 
dread  lest  these  blessings  should  be  withdrawn  from  us.  It  is 
a  sacred  duty  for  every  American  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  per- 
petuate our  civil  institutions  and  to  avert  the  dangers  that 
threaten  them. 

The  system  of  government  which  obtains  in  the  United 
States  is  tersely  described  in  the  well-known  sentence,  "A 
government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people  " ;  which 
may  be  paraphrased  thus:  Ours  is  a  government  in  which  the 
people  are  ruled  by  the  representatives  of  their  own  choice,  and 
for  the  benefit  of  the  people  themselves. 

Our  rulers  are  called  the  servants  of  the  people,  since  they 
are  appointed  to  fulfil  the  people's  wishes;  and  the  people  are 
called  the  sovereign  people,  because  it  is  by  their  sovereign 
voice  that  their  rulers  are  elected. 

The  method  by  which  the  supreme  will  of  the  people  is 
registered  is  the  ballot-box.  This  is  the  oracle  that  proclaims 
their  choice.  This  is  the  balance  in  which  the  merits  of  the 
XII  [  9  ] 


"PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS'^ 

candidates  are  weighed.     The  heavier  scale  determines  at  once 
the  decision  of  the  majority  and  the  selection  of  the  candidate. 

And  what  spectacle  is  more  subUme  than  the  sight  of  ten 
miUions  of  citizens  determining,  not  by  the  bullet,  but  by  the 
ballot,  the  ruler  that  is  to  preside  over  the  nation's  destinies 

"A  weapon  that  comes  down  as  still 

As  snowflakes  fall  upon  the  sod ; 
But  executes  a  freeman's  will, 

As  lightning  does  the  will  of  God : 
And  from  its  force  nor  doors  nor  locks 
Can  shield  you :  'tis  the  ballot-box.  '- 

But  the  greatest  blessings  are  Kable  to  be  perverted.  Our 
RepubHc,  while  retaining  its  form  and  name,  may  degenerate 
into  most  odious  tyranny;  and  the  irresponsible  despotism  of 
the  multitude  is  more  galhng,  because  more  difficult  to  be  shaken 
off,  than  that  of  the  autocrat. 

History  is  philosophy  teaching  by  example.  A  brief  re- 
view of  the  Roman  RepubHc  and  the  causes  of  its  downfall 
will  teach  us  a  useful  lesson.  The  RepubHc  prospered  so  long 
as  the  citizens  practised  simpHcity  of  Hfe,  and  the  civil  magis- 
trates administered  even-handed  justice.  Avarice  and  ambi- 
tion proved  its  ruin.^  The  avarice  of  the  poor  was  gratified 
by  the  bribery  of  the  rich;  and  the  ambition  of  the  rich  was  fed 
by  the  votes  of  the  poor. 

In  the  latter  days  of  the  RepubHc  bribery  and  corruption 
were  shamefully  practised.  Marius  was  elected  to  the  consul- 
ship by  the  purchase  of  votes  and  by  coUusion  with  the  most 
notorious  demagogues.  Pompey  and  Crassus  secured  the  con- 
sulship by  intimidation,  though  neither  of  them  was  legally 
quaHfied  for  that  office.  The  philosophy  of  Epicuris,  intro- 
duced during  the  last  years  of  the  RepubHc,  hastened  the  moral 
and  mental  corruption  of  Rom.e.  The  loss  of  the  poHtical  au- 
tonomy of  Greece,  which  preceded  that  of  Rome,  may  be 
traced  to  the  same  cause.  To  the  early  Romans  the  oath  was 
sacred,  and  perjury  a  detestable  crime.     We  find  in  a  letter  of 

^Primo  pecuniae,  deinde  imperii  cupido  crevit;   ea  quasi  materies 
omnium  malorum  fuere.     (Sallust.)     Catalin.  C.  X. 
XII  [  lo  ] 


"PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

Cicero  to  Atticus  a  curious  incident   that  shows  how  far  the 
politicians  of  his  day  had  departed  from  former  standards. 

"  Memmius,"  he  writes,  "has  just  made  known  to  the  Senate 
an  agreement  between  himself  and  an  associate  candidate  for 
the  consulship  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  two  consuls  of  the 
current  year  on  the  other."  It  appears  that  the  two  consuls 
agreed  to  favor  the  candidacy  of  the  aspirants  on  the  following 
terms:  The  two  aspirants  bound  themselves  to  forfeit  to  the 
consuls  four  hundred  thousand  sesterces  if  they  failed  to  pro- 
duce in  favor  of  the  consuls  three  augurs  who  were  to  swear 
that  in  their  sight  and  hearing  the  Plebs  (though  such  was  not 
the  fact)  had  voted  the  law  Curiate,  a  law  that  invested  the 
consuls  with  full  mihtary  powers;  and  also  if  they  failed  to 
produce  two  ex- consuls  who  were  to  swear  that  in  their  presence 
the  Senate  had  passed  and  signed  a  certain  decree  regulating 
the  provinces  of  each  consul,  though  such  was  not  the  fact.^ 
What  a  crowding  of  dishonesty  in  this  one  transaction!  Can 
the  worst  kind  of  American  politics  furnish  the  match  of  this 
slate  gotten  up  regardless  of  truth  and  oath  ? 

Cato  failed  to  be  elected  consul,  although  eminently  worthy 
of  that  dignity,  because  he  disdained  to  purchase  the  office  by 
bribes.  Caesar  had  so  far  debauched  the  populace  with  flat- 
tery and  bribes,  and  the  soldiers  with  pensions,  that  his  elec- 
tion to  the  office  of  chief  pontiff  and  consul  was  easily 
obtained. 

During  the  Empire,  elections  were  usually  a  mere  f  ormahty. 
Bribery  was  open  and  unblushing.  Toward  the  end  of  the 
second  century  the  Empire  was  pubHcly  sold  at  auction  to  the 
highest  bidder.  Didius  JuHanus,  a  rich  senator,  obtained  the 
prize  by  the  payment  of  $620  to  each  soldier  of  the  Praetorian 
guard.  But  he  was  executed  after  a  precarious  and  inglorious 
reign  of  sixty-six  days. 

The  history  of  the  Roman  Republic  and  the  Roman  Empire 
should  be  a  salutary  warning  to  us.  Our  Christian  civilization 
gives  us  no  immunity  from  political  corruption  and  disaster. 
The  oft-repeated  cry  of  election  frauds  should  not  be  treated 
with  indifference;  though,  in  many  instances,  no  doubt,  it  is  the 

1  Book  IV.,  Letter  XVIII 
XII  [11] 


"PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

empty  charge  of  defeated  partisans  against  successful  rivals,  or 
the  heated  language  of  a  party  press. 

But  after  all  reasonable  allowances  are  made,  enough  re- 
mains of  a  substantial  character  to  be  ominous.  In  every  possi- 
ble way,  by  tickets  insidiously  printed,  by  "colonizing,"  "re- 
peating," and  "personation,"  frauds  are  attempted,  and  too 
often  successfully,  on  the  ballot.  I  am  informed  by  a  trust- 
worthy gentleman  that,  in  certain  localities,  the  adherents  of 
one  party,  while  proof  against  bribes  from  their  political  oppo- 
nents, will  exact  compensation  before  giving  their  votes  even  to 
their  own  party  candidates.  The  evil  would  be  great  enough 
if  it  were  restricted  to  examples  of  this  kind,  but  it  becomes 
much  more  serious  when  large  bodies  of  men  are  debauched  by 
the  bribes  or  intimidated  by  the  threats  of  wealthy  corporations. 

But  when  the  very  fountains  of  legislation  are  polluted  by 
lobbying  and  other  corrupt  means;  when  the  hand  of  bribery 
is  extended,  and  not  always  in  vain,  to  our  municipal,  state, 
and  national  legislators;  when  our  law-makers  become  the 
pliant  tools  of  some  seliish  and  greedy  capitahsts,  instead  of 
subserving  the  interests  of  the  people — then,  indeed,  patriotic 
citizens  have  reason  to  be  alarmed  about  the  future  of  our 
country.  The  man  who  would  poison  the  wells  and  springs 
of  the  land  is  justly  regarded  as  a  human  monster,  as  an  enemy 
of  society,  and  no  punishment  could  be  too  severe  for  him. 
Is  he  not  as  great  a  criminal  who  would  poison  and  pollute  the 
ballot-box,  the  unf aihng  fount  and  well-spring  of  our  civil  free- 
dom and  of  our  national  life  ? 

The  Ark  of  the  Covenant  was  held  in  the  highest  venera- 
tion by  the  children  of  Israel.  It  was  the  oracle  from  which 
God  communicated  His  will  to  the  people.  Two  cherubim  with 
outstretched  wings  were  placed  over  it  as  sacred  guardians. 
Oza  was  suddenly  struck  dead  for  profanely  touching  it.  May 
we  not,  without  irreverence,  compare  the  ballot-box  to  the  an- 
cient Ark  ?  Is  it  not  for  us  the  oracle  of  God,  because  it  is  the 
oracle  of  the  people?  God  commands  us  to  obey  our  rulers. 
It  is  through  the  ballot-box  that  our  rulers  are  proclaimed  to 
us;  therefore,  its  voice  should  be  accepted  as  the  voice  of  God. 
Let  justice  and  truth,  like  twin  cherubs,  guard  this  sacred  in- 
XII  [  12  ] 


''PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

strument.  Let  him  who  lays  profane  hands  upon  it  be  made 
to  feel  that  he  is  guilty  of  a  grievous  offence  against  the 
stabiHty  of  government,  the  peace  of  society,  and  the  majesty 
of  God. 

Our  Saviour,  filled  with  righteous  indignation,  seizes  a 
scourge  and  casts  out  of  the  Temple  those  that  bought  and 
sold  in  it,  and  overturns  the  tables  of  the  money-changers, 
saying:  "My  house  is  a  house  of  prayer,  but  you  have  made 
it  a  den  of  thieves."  The  poUing  booth  is  a  temple,  in  which 
the  angel  of  justice  holds  the  scales  with  an  even  hand.  The 
political  money-changer  pollutes  the  temple  by  his  iniquitous 
bargains.  The  money-changer  in  Jerusalem's  Temple  traf- 
ficked in  doves;  the  electioneering  money-changer  traffics  in 
human  beings. 

Let  the  minister  of  justice  arise,  and,  clothed  with  the  pano- 
ply of  authority,  let  him  drive  those  impious  men  from  the 
temple.  Let  the  buyers  and  sellers  of  votes  be  declared  in- 
famous; for  they  are  trading  in  our  American  birthright.  Let 
them  be  cast  forth  from  the  pale  of  American  citizenship  and 
be  treated  as  outlaws. 

I  do  not  think  the  punishment  too  severe  when  we  con- 
sider the  enormity  and  far-reaching  consequences  of  their  crime. 
I  hold  that  the  man  w^ho  undermines  our  elective  system  is 
only  less  criminal  than  the  traitor  who  fights  against  his  country 
with  a  foreign  invader.  The  one  compasses  his  end  by  fraud, 
the  other  by  force. 

The  privilege  of  voting  is  not  an  inherent  or  inalienable 
right.  It  is  a  solemn  and  sacred  trust,  to  be  used  in  strict  ac- 
cordance wath  the  intentions  of  the  authority  from  which  it 
emanates. 

When  a  citizen  exercises  his  honest  judgment  in  casting  his 
vote  for  the  most  acceptable  candidate,  he  is  making  a  legiti- 
mate use  of  the  prerogatives  confided  to  him.  But  when  he 
sells  or  barters  his  vote,  when  he  disposes  of  it  to  the  highest 
bidder,  like  a  merchantable  commodity,  he  is  clearly  violating 
his  trust  and  degrading  his  citizenship. 

The  enormity  of  the  offence  will  be  readily  perceived  by 
pushing  it  to  its  logical  consequences : 
^11  [  13  ] 


*' PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

First.  Once  the  purchase  of  votes  is  tolerated  or  condoned 
or  connived  at,  the  obvious  result  is  that  the  right  of  suffrage 
becomes  a  solemn  farce.  The  sovereignty  is  no  longer  vested 
in  the  people,  but  in  corrupt  politicians  or  in  wealthy  corpora- 
tions; money  instead  of  merit  becomes  the  test  of  success;  the 
election  is  determined,  not  by  the  personal  fitness  and  integrity 
of  the  candidate,  but  by  the  length  of  his  own  or  his  patron's 
purse;  and  the  aspirant  for  office  owes  his  victory,  not  to  the 
votes  of  his  constituents,  but  to  the  grace  of  some  political 
boss. 

Second.  The  better  class  of  citizens  will  lose  heart  and  ab- 
sent themselves  from  the  polls,  knowing  that  it  is  useless  to 
engage  in  a  contest  which  is  already  decided  by  irresponsible 
managers. 

Third.  Disappointment,  vexation,  and  righteous  indigna- 
tion wdll  burn  in  the  breasts  of  upright  citizens.  These  senti- 
ments will  be  followed  by  apathy  and  despair  of  carrying  out 
successfully  a  popular  form  of  government.  The  enemies  of 
the  Republic  will  then  take  advantage  of  the  existing  scandals 
to  decry  our  system  and  laud  absolute  monarchies.  The  last 
stage  in  the  drama  is  political  stagnation  or  revolution. 

But,  happily,  the  American  people  are  not  prone  to  de- 
spondency or  to  political  stagnation,  or  to  revolution  outside 
of  the  hnes  of  legitimate  reform.  They  are  cheerful  and  hope- 
ful, because  they  are  conscious  of  their  strength;  and  well  they 
may  be,  when  they  reflect  on  the  century  of  ordeals  through 
which  they  have  triumphantly  passed.  They  are  vigilant,  be- 
cause they  are  liberty-loving,  and  they  know  that  "Eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of  liberty."  They  are  an  enlightened 
and  practical  people;  therefore  are  they  quick  to  detect  and 
prompt  to  resist  the  first  inroads  of  corruption.  They  know 
well  how  to  apply  the  antidote  to  the  pohtical  distemper  of  the 
hour.  They  have  the  elasticity  of  mind  and  heart  to  rise  to 
the  occasion.  They  will  never  suffer  the  stately  temple  of  the 
Constitution  to  be  overthrown,  but  will  hasten  to  strengthen 
the  foundation  where  it  is  undermined,  to  repair  every  breach, 
and  to  readjust  every  stone  of  the  glorious  edifice. 

In  conclusion,  I  shall  presume  to  suggest,  with  all  deference, 
XII  [  14  ] 


*' PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

a  brief  outline  of  what  appear  to  me  the  most  efficient  means 
to  preserve  purity  of  elections  and  to  perpetuate  our  poHtical 
independence. 

Many  partial  remedies  may  be  named.  The  main  purpose 
of  these  remedies  is  to  foster  and  preserve  what  may  be  called 
a  Public  Conscience.  In  the  individual  man,  conscience  is  that 
inner  hght  which  directs  him  in  the  knowledge  and  choice  of 
good  and  evil,  that  practical  judgment  which  pronounces,  over 
every  one  of  his  acts,  that  it  is  right  or  wrong,  m.oral  or  immoral. 
Now,  this  Hght  and  judgment  which  directs  man  in  the  ordinary 
personal  affairs  of  hfe,  must  be  his  guide  also  in  the  affairs  of 
his  poHtical  Hfe;  for  he  is  answerable  to  God  for  his  poHtical, 
as  well  as  his  personal,  life. 

The  individual  conscience  is  an  enHghtenment  and  a  guide; 
and  it  is  itself  iUumined  and  directed  by  the  great  maxims  of 
natural  law  and  the  conclusions  which  the  mind  is  constantly 
deducing  from  those  maxims.  Now,  is  there  not  a  set  of  maxims 
and  opinions  that  fulfil  the  office  of  guides  to  the  masses  in 
their  poHtical  Hfe  ? 

The  means  which  I  propose  are : 

First,  The  enactment  of  strict  and  wholesome  laws  for  pre- 
venting bribery  and  the  corruption  of  the  ballot-box,  accom- 
panied with  condign  punishment  against  the  violators  of  the 
law.  Let  such  protection  and  privacy  be  thrown  around  the 
polHng  booth  that  the  humblest  citizen  may  be  able  to  record 
his  vote  without  fear  of  pressure  or  of  interference  from  those 
that  might  influence  him.  Such  a  remedy  has  already  been 
attempted,  with  more  or  less  success,  in  some  States  by  the 
introduction  of  new  systems  of  voting. 

Second.  A  pure,  enHghtened,  and  independent  judiciary  to 
interpret  and  enforce  the  laws. 

Third.  A  vigilant  and  fearless  press  that  will  reflect  and 
create  a  healthy  pubHc  opinion.  Such  a  press,  guided  by  the 
laws  of  justice  and  the  spirit  of  American  institutions,  is  the 
organ  and  the  reflection  of  national  thought,  the  outer  bulwark 
of  the  rights  and  Hberties  of  the  citizen  against  the  usurpations 
of  authority  and  the  injustice  of  parties,  the  speediest  and  most 
direct  castigator  of  vice  and  dishonesty.  It  is  a  duty  of  the 
XII  [15] 


"PATRIOTISM   AND    POLITICS" 

citizens  of  a  free  country  not  only  to  encourage  the  press, 
but  to  cooperate  with  it;  and  it  is  a  misfortune  for  any 
land  when  its  leading  men  neglect  to  instruct  their  country 
and  act  on  pubHc  opinion  through  this  powerful  instrument 
for  good. 

Fourth.  The  incorporation  into  our  school  system  of  familiar 
lessons  embodying  a  history  of  our  country,  a  brief  sketch  of 
her  heroes,  statesmen,  and  patriots,  whose  civic  virtues  the 
rising  generation  will  thus  be  taught  to  emulate.  The  duties 
and  rights  of  citizens,  along  with  reverence  for  our  political  in- 
stitutions, should  hkewise  be  inculcated,  as  Dr.  Andrews,  Presi- 
dent of  the  University  of  Nebraska,  recommended  some  years 
ago.  There  is  danger  that  the  country  whose  history  is  not 
known  and  cherished  will  become  to  the  masses  only  an  ab- 
straction, or,  at  best,  that  it  vvill  be  in  touch  with  them  only  on 
its  less  lovable  side,  the  taxes  and  burdens  it  imposes.  Men 
lost  in  an  unnatural  isolation,  strangers  to  the  past  life  cf  their 
nation,  Hving  on  a  soil  to  which  they  hold  only  by  the  passing 
interests  of  the  present,  as  atoms  without  cohesion,  are  not  able 
to  realize  and  bring  home  to  themselves  the  claims  of  a  country 
that  not  only  is,  but  that  was  before  them,  and  that  will  be,  as 
history  alone  can  teach,  long  after  them. 

Fijth.  A  more  hearty  celebration  of  our  national  hoHdays. 

The  Hebrew  people,  as  we  learn  from  Sacred  Scripture, 
were  commanded  to  commemorate  by  an  annual  observance 
their  hberation  from  the  bondage  of  Pharaoh  and  their  en- 
trance into  the  Promised  Land.  In  nearly  all  civilized  countries 
there  are  certain  days  set  apart  to  recall  some  great  events  in 
their  national  history,  and  to  pay  honor  to  the  memory  of  the 
heroes  who  figured  in  them.  The  United  States  has  already 
estabhshed  three  national  holidays.  The  first  is  consecrated 
to  the  birth  of  the  "Father  of  his  Country";  the  second,  to  the 
birth  of  the  nation ;  and  the  third  is  observed  as  a  day  of  Thanks- 
giving to  God  for  His  manifold  blessings  to  the  nation.  On 
those  days,  when  the  usual  occupations  of  life  are  suspended, 
every  citizen  has  leisure  to  study  and  admire  the  political  in- 
stitutions of  his  country,  and  to  thank  God  for  the  benedictions 
that  He  has  poured  out  on  us  as  a  people.  In  contemplating 
XII  I  i6  1 


''PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

these  blessings,  we  may  well  repeat  with  the  Royal  Prophet: 
"He  hath  not  done  in  like  manner  to  every  nation,  and  His 
judgments  He  hath  not  made  manifest  to  them." 

If  holidays  are  useful  to  those  that  are  to  the  manor  born, 
they  are  still  more  imperatively  demanded  for  the  foreign  popu- 
lation, which  is  constantly  flowing  into  our  country,  and  which 
consists  of  persons  who  are  strangers  to  our  civil  institutions. 
The  annually  recurring  holidays  will  create  and  develop  in 
their  minds  a  knowledge  of  our  history  and  admiration  for  our 
system  of  government.  It  will  help,  also,  to  mould  our  people 
into  unity  of  poHtical  faith.  By  the  young,  especially,  are  holi- 
days welcomed  with  keen  dehght;  and  as  there  is  a  natural, 
though  unconscious,  association  in  the  mind  between  the  civic 
festivity  and  the  cause  that  gave  it  birth,  their  attachment  to 
the  day  will  extend  to  the  patriotic  event  or  to  the  men  whose 
anniversary  is  celebrated. 

Sixth.  The  maintenance  ot  party  lines  is  an  indispensable 
means  for  preserving  political  purity.  One  party  watches  the 
other,  takes  note  of  its  shortcomings,  its  blunders  and  defects; 
and  it  has  at  its  disposal  the  means  for  rebuking  any  abuse  of 
power  on  the  part  of  the  dominant  side,  by  appeahng  to  the 
country  at  the  tribunal  of  the  ballot-box.  The  healthiest  periods 
of  the  Roman  Republic  were  periods  of  fierce  political  strife. 
The  citizens  of  Athens  were  not  allowed  to  remain  neutral. 
They  were  compelled  to  take  sides  on  all  questions  of  great 
public  interest.  Not  only  was  every  citizen  obliged  to  vote, 
but  the  successful  candidate  was  bound  to  accept  the  office  to 
which  he  was  called,  and  to  subordinate  his  taste  for  private 
life  to  the  public  interests. 

England  owes  much  of  her  greatness  and  liberty  to  the  ac- 
tive and  aggressive  vigilance  of  opposing  political  camps. 
Political  parties  are  the  outcome  of  political  freedom.  Parties 
are  not  to  be  confounded  with  factions.  The  former  contend 
for  a  principle,  the  latter  struggle  for  a  master. 

To  jurists  and  statesmen  these  considerations  may  seem 

trite,  elementary,  and  commonplace.     But,  hke  all  elementary 

principles,   they  are  of  vital  import.     They  should  be  kept 

prominently  in  view  before  the  people,  and  not  obscured  in  a 

XII  [17] 


''PATRIOTISM  AND   POLITICS" 

maze  of  wordy  technicalities.  They  are  landmarks  to  guide 
men  in  the  path  of  public  duty,  and  they  would  vastly  contrib- 
ute to  the  good  order  and  stabiHty  of  the  Commonwealth  if 
they  were  indelibly  stamped  on  the  heart  and  memory  of  every 
American  citizen. 


xn  [i8] 


XIII 


AMBITION 

"THE  CONDITIONS  OF  SUCCESS 

BY 

DR.  MAX   NORDAU 


/l/fAX  SIMON  NORDAU  stands  to-day  among  the  leading 
philosophers  and  literary  men  of  the  world.  He  is  oj 
Hebrew  origin,  was  born  in  Budapesth,  and  educated  there  as 
a  physician.  Persecutions  directed  at  his  race  and  faith  drove 
him  from  Hungary,  and  for  over  a  quarter  century  he  has  re- 
sided in  Paris,  the  centre  which  has  drawn  to  itself  so  many 
noted  literary  men.  Dr.  Nordau  early  became  known  as  a  novel- 
ist and  playwright,  and  in  1893  his  celebrated  work  ^^ Degenera- 
tion^^ drew  upon  him  the  attention  of  the  entire  world.  Medical 
men  were  as  interested  as  philosophers  by  this  grim,  though 
probably  exaggerated,  pointing  out  of  the  symptoms  of  degeneracy 
in  modern  life.  Since  then  works  of  more  or  less  similar  char- 
acter, such  as  '^The  Drones  Must  Die,^^  have  kept  the  author 
prominently  before  the  public. 

The  present  discourse  by  Dr.  Nordau  displays  the  same 
keenness  of  analysis,  the  same  monumental  honesty,  and  the 
same  irrefutable  logic  as  his  longer  works.  To  turn  from  Nor- 
dau contemptuously  as  a  mere  pessimist  is  childish  folly.  Rather 
we  should  look  to  him  in  admiration  as  what  he  is,  the  stern 
physician  who  does  not  hesitate  to  search  the  illnesses  of  society. 
With  his  keen  scalpel  he  lays  bare  each  evil,  not  from  a  mere 
morbid  curiosity  as  to  the  progress  of  disease,  but  in  anxiety  to 
understand  and  cure.  It  is  for  us  to  aid  him  in  his  efforts,  or 
at  least  to  heed  his  warning  of  the  danger,  and,  for  ourselves^ 
beware. 

xni  [  I  ] 


AMBITION 


The  reader  in  these  latter  days  is  accustomed  to  the  sight 
of  diagrams  which  show  him  in  what  an  extraordinary  measure 
everything  has  developed  in  the  last  quarter  or  half  century: 
the  output  of  coal  and  iron;  baldness;  the  population  of 
countries  and  towns;  the  wealth  of  individuals  and  communi- 
ties; the  range  of  guns  and  the  consumption  of  soap;  the 
length  of  railways  and  the  salaries  of  tenors;  the  circulation 
of  newspapers,  the  average  length  of  life,  and  the  number  of 
divorces.  There  is  something,  however,  on  which  we  never 
obtain  statistics,  although  it  has  developed  to  a  greater  extent 
than  any  other,  and  that  is  ambition. 

It  has  become  a  commonplace  that  the  great  impulse  to  all 
human  effort  is  hunger  and  love.  This  statement  is  true  only 
regarding  a  certain  phase  of  civiHzation.  The  daily  bread  and 
the  woman  are  the  aim  of  the  toil  and  struggle  of  man  so  long 
as  he  has  not  raised  himself  much  over  the  level  of  animality. 
On  a  higher  degree  of  development  a  third  stimulus  comes 
into  play,  in  many  men  the  strongest  of  all — Ambition.  People 
desire  to  shine,  to  become  famous;  they  desire  to  be  admired, 
envied,  imitated.  Everybody  strives  to  rise  above  the  others, 
to  overtake  all  competitors  in  the  race  of  life,  to  win  the  first 
prize.  Formerly  the  feudal  organization  of  society  created 
hard-and-fast  Hmits  to  the  cravings  of  the  individual.  The 
low-born,  the  poor  man,  could  not  hope  to  lift  himself  much 
above  the  level  on  which  the  accident  of  his  birth  had  placed 
him.  His  boldest  dreams  never  carried  him  beyond  the 
extreme  limits  of  his  caste.  The  democratic  transformation 
of  the  peoples  has  changed  this.  The  emancipation  of  the 
individual  is  in  some  countries  complete  and  in  others  nearly 
so.  Birth  and  extraction  are  no  longer  obstacles.  Energy 
and  talent,  but  of  course  smartness  and  unscrupulousness 
also,  are  keys  to  every  door.  Forces  now  have  full  play,  free 
from  the  fetters  of  prejudice.  "Quo  non  ascendam,"  cries 
in  Dionysian  intoxication  every  youngster  who  enters  the 
arena  of  Hfe,  to  take  up  the  struggle  for  existence. 

Nowhere  is  ambition  so  general  and  so  boundless  as  in 
xm  [2] 


A.MBITION 

America.  This  is  natural,  for  nowhere  is  the  individual  so 
highly  differentiated  as  in  America,  nowhere  is  he  so  full  of 
inborn  energy,  so  rich  in  initiative,  resource,  optimism,  and 
self-confidence;  nowhere  is  he  so  little  tethered  by  pedantry, 
and  nowhere  are  people  so  willing  to  recognize  the  value  of  a 
brilliant  personality,  however  this  may  find  expression. 

To  this  it  must  be  added,  that  in  America  the  instances  in 
which  men  have  risen  from  the  most  humble  beginnings  to  the 
most  fabulous  destinies,  are  more  numerous  and  striking  than 
anywhere  else.  A  Lincoln  who  develops  from  a  woodcutter  into 
a  President ;  a  Mr.  Schwab  who  at  twenty  years  earned  a  dollar 
a  day  and  at  thirty-five  has  a  salary  of  a  million;  a  Mr.  Car- 
negie who  as  a  youth  did  not  know  where  to  find  a  shilHng  to 
buy  primers,  and  as  a  man  in  mature  life  does  not  know  how  to 
get  rid  reasonably  and  usefully  of  his  three  hundred  million 
dollars,  must  suggest  to  every  woodcutter,  every  "buttons," 
every  factory  apprentice  with  the  scantiest  elementary  school- 
ing, the  idea  that  it  only  depends  on  himself  to  tread  in  the 
footsteps  of  a  Lincoln,  a  Mr.  Schwab,  or  a  Mr.  Carnegie,  and 
to  reach  the  goal  that  these  celebrities  have  attained. 

The  Horatian  Aurea  mediocritas  has  nowhere  so  few  parti- 
sans as  in  America.  "Everybody  ahead"  is  the  national 
motto.  I  suppress  intentionally  the  second  half  of  the  smart 
sentence.  The  universal  ideal  of  the  American  people  seems 
to  be  success.  The  dream  of  success  feeds  the  fancy  of  the 
child,  hypnotizes  the  youth,  gives  the  man  temerity,  tenacity, 
and  perseverance,  and  only  begins  to  become  a  matter  of 
indifference  under  the  sobering  influence  of  advanced  age. 

Success,  however,  is  but  one  of  those  vague  words  which 
mean  nothing  definite,  but  which,  like  "freedom"  or  "prog- 
ress," are  mere  recipients  filled  by  everybody  with  a  different 
content.  A  well-known  exercise  in  experimental  psychology 
consists  in  asking  a  number  of  persons  to  indicate  what  images 
emerge  in  their  consciousness  when  an  abstract  term  is  sud- 
denly pronounced  in  their  presence.  In  this  manner  we  suc- 
ceed in  distinguishing  the  concrete  elements  out  of  which  an 
abstract  notion  is  composed. 

If  one  were  to  ask  a  number  of  Americans  what  they  imag- 
XIII  [  3  ] 


AMBITION 

ine  by  success,  one  would  evidently  receive  very  different 
ansv^ers.  Many  would  reply:  Success  means  money.  To  be 
successful  is  synonymous  with  owning  a  palace,  a  yacht,  a 
private  Pullman  car,  with  eating  off  gold  plate,  having  the  most 
expensive  box  in  the  Opera  House,  buying  one's  wife  the  largest 
diamonds  in  the  market  and  one's  daughter  an  English  duke, 
or  astonishing  the  world  by  the  price  of  one's  pictures,  the 
number  of  one's  pairs  of  trousers,  and  the  amount  of  one's 
stakes  at  poker. 

This  is,  of  course,  the  coarsest  view  of  wealth.  It  does  not 
go  beyond  the  most  brutal  selfishness  and  the  mental  horizon  of 
an  ilHterate  publican.  Men  of  higher  intellectual  and  moral 
attainment  who  hunt  after  wealth  dream  of  making  a  nobler 
use  of  their  gold.  They  desire  to  found  universities  and 
libraries,  create  museums,  put  up  pubHc  monuments,  assist 
talent,  reward  genius,  to  be  the  providence  of  the  poor  and  the 
sick,  and  spread  faith.  In  the  one  case  as  in  the  other,  one  is 
greedy  for  money  on  account  of  the  power  it  incarnates,  the 
power  to  satisfy  low  appetites  or  nobler  aspirations,  provoking 
whims  or  philanthropic  sympathies,  to  gall  one's  fellow-men, 
or  to  be  of  use  to  them. 

For  others,  success  means  the  esteem  of  their  fellow-country- 
men. They  do  not  desire  to  present  them  with  money,  they 
desire  to  give  them  the  work  of  their  brains.  They  see  them- 
selves as  popular  orators,  as  admired  administrators,  poli- 
ticians, legislators.  They  dream  of  enthusiastic  receptions  by 
cheering  crowds,  of  electoral  victories,  and  of  holding  offices 
from  mayor  of  their  native  place  to  President  of  the  United 
States. 

Yet  another  category  understand  success  in  one  shape  only, 
as  fame.  To  be  known  to  the  whole  world — to  find  that  one's 
name  is  a  household  word  with  all  people  of  education — what 
"consummation  devoutly  to  be  wish'd!"  a  goal  which  seems 
higher  and  more  comprehensive  than  that  of  the  millionaire  or 
the  public  man.  For  with  fame,  so  at  least  those  beheve  who 
strive  for  it,  goes  also  pecuniary  reward,  and  the  respect  and 
admiration  of  one's  fellow-men. 

XIII  [4] 


AMBITION 


II 


To  weigh  the  moral  and  material  value  of  these  various 
forms  of  success,  one  against  the  other,  is  clearly  not  easy. 

There  exists  no  common  measure  for  them.  Their  propor- 
tional estimation  depends  upon  the  conception  of  the  world  and 
Hf e,  the  temperament,  the  coarser  or  finer  soul-fibre  of  the  person 
estimating  them.  It  is  emphatically  a  case  for  the  appHcation 
of  the  classic  fable  of  the  stork  and  the  fox  who  invite  each 
other  to  a  meal.  The  fox  can  naturally  do  nothing  with  the 
long  narrow  pitcher  of  the  stork,  while  the  latter  is  equally 
helpless  with  the  broad  shallow  dish  of  the  fox.  It  all  depends 
on  whether  one  has  a  muzzle  or  a  long  bill. 

It  will  probably  be  most  difficult  to  come  to  an  agreement 
regarding  the  value  of  the  ideal  of  those  for  whom  success  takes 
the  form  of  a  mountain  of  gold,  because  not  many  people  have 
the  moral  courage  to  deal  with  the  problem  sincerely;  in  their 
hearts  they  probably  all  value  wealth,  but  it  is  considered  low- 
minded  and  vulgar  to  admit  this,  while  it  seems  noble  and 
superior  to  make  a  show  of  despising  money. 

Now  to  despise  money  is  very  f  oohsh,  as  it  means  to  despise 
force,  and  force  is  the  essence  of  the  universe.  Money  in  itself 
is  nothing  and  means  nothing.  It  is  a  mere  symbol.  It  is  a 
conventional  representation  of  the  whole  of  civilization.  It 
virtually  includes  everything  that  up  to  this  hour  man  has 
created  with  his  many-sided  mental  and  bodily  efforts;  what 
he  has  wrested  from  Nature  in  a  struggle  of  giants  of  thousands 
of  years,  and  has  brought  to  a  form  suitable  for  human  needs. 
Whoever  boasts  that  he  despises  money,  boasts  that  he  de- 
spises the  pictures  of  Leonardo  and  Velasquez,  the  statues  of 
Michael  Angelo,  Carpeaux  and  Paul  Dubois,  the  view  on  the 
north  Italian  lakes,  the  gulf  of  Naples  and  the  giants  of  the 
Alps,  the  voice  of  De  Reszke  and  Patti,  the  viohn  playing  of 
Joachim  and  Sarasate,  the  wisdom  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer, 
the  science  of  Lord  Kelvin,  and  the  inventiveness  of  Edison. 
For  all  these  one  can  procure  with  money.  That  money  can 
also  be  expended  in  vulgar  fashion  is  not  the  fault  of  the  money, 
but  of  those  who  spend  it  in  a  vulgar  fashion. 
XIII  [  5  ] 


AMBITION 

At  bottom  one  cannot  blame  the  young  man  who,  when  he 
starts  out  on  the  race  of  life,  makes  as  his  goal  the  miUiards  of 
a  Carnegie  or  a  Rockefeller.  He  can  think  out  for  himself  a 
good  or  a  bad,  a  wise  or  a  foolish,  a  useful  or  a  harmful  employ 
of  them,  and  according  to  his  choice  will  his  ambition  be 
attractive  or  repulsive. 

It  is  true  that  a  father,  a  tutor,  a  friend  of  even  moderate 
wisdom  only,  will  never  advise  the  young  man  to  make  the 
conquest  of  milliards  the  task  of  his  life.  The  prospects  of 
passing  the  winning-post  as  victor  are  extremely  unfavor- 
able, the  probabilities  that  in  the  struggle  for  excessive  wealth 
he  will  lose  his  health,  his  peace  of  mind,  his  better  self,  per- 
haps his  very  life,  are  very  great.  The  possession  of  the 
milliard  may  be  a  happiness ;  the  earning  of  the  milliard  is  cer- 
tainly a  work  which  peremptorily  excludes  every  idea  of  hap- 
piness. The  road  to  the  milliard  leads  through  all  the  circles 
of  Dante's  Inferno.  Supposing  the  goal  to  be  the  paradise,  the 
traveller  arrives  there  in  a  condition  which  leaves  him  but  little 
capacity  for  enjoying  its  bhss.  The  milliardaire  who  lives  on 
a  daily  pint  of  milk  of  the  value  of  six  cents,  and  who  in  vain 
exhausts  all  the  resources  of  human  invention  in  striving  to 
obtain  a  few  hours  of  sleep,  has  become  a  common  type  in  mod- 
ern fiction,  and  I  beheve  the  portrait  is  true  to  Hf  e. 

Providence  has  happily  arranged  that  trees  do  not  reach  the 
heavens.  Great  wealth  can  only  be  gained  from  man.  It  is 
never  the  prize  of  solitary  contemplation  or  secluded  work  at 
the  desk  in  the  cosey  study.  One  must  go  to  seek  it  in  the 
market  place,  among  the  crowd.  One  must  handle,  outdo, 
overcome,  or  crush  innumerable  people.  One  must  be  more 
clever,  have  more  will  power,  or  be  more  artful  than  other  men. 
This  presupposes  qualities  which  are  not  possessed  by  one  man 
in  a  million.  The  young  apprentice  millionaire,  when  he  is  not 
a  fool,  soon  sees  that  he  is  not  cut  in  the  material  from  which 
milliardaires  are  made.  He  calculates  that  on  the  whole  there 
is  no  business  which  pays  so  little  as  the  chase  after  the  milliard, 
he  abandons  the  race  in  time,  before  he  breaks  down,  and  de- 
votes his  energies  to  aims  which  are  closer  at  hand,  and  reaches, 
not  the  fabulous  milliards,  but  probably  an  honest  competence. 
XIII  [  6  ] 


AMBITION 

The  ambition  to  conquer  a  prominent  situation  m  public 
life  can  be  better  encouraged.  It  is  from  its  nature  more  moral 
than  that  for  the  mere  possession  of  money.  It  is  by  definition 
social.  The  efforts  it  necessitates  are  compatible  with  health 
and  happiness.  It  is  true  that  here  also  we  have  the  broad 
road  and  the  narrow  path.  One  can,  in  order  to  gain  popu- 
larity, appeal  to  the  bad  instincts  of  the  crowd  as  well  as  to 
the  good.  One  may  be  the  cad,  parasite,  and  corrupter  of  the 
people,  or  its  stern  educator,  warner,  and  critic.  One  can  arrive 
at  the  Capitol  through  Tammany  Hall  or  by  heroism  on  Cuban 
battlefields.  Whoever  is  not  an  incurable  pessimist  will  at 
least  admit  the  possibility  that  honesty,  firmness  of  character, 
sound  common  sense,  public  spirit,  sympathy  with  one's 
fellow-man,  a  little  geniahty,  and  a  Httle  gift  of  the  gab,  will 
sufficiently  designate  the  possessor  of  these  quahties,  which 
are  not  over  rare,  even  in  their  happy  assemblage,  to  the  esteem 
and  confidence  of  his  neighbors  to  assure  him  a  reasonable,  if 
perhaps  not  phenomenal,  success  in  public  fife.  The  greater 
the  number  of  citizens  who  have  this  kind  of  ambition,  the 
better  for  the  community;  for  their  fruitful  emulation,  when 
it  is  controlled  by  a  well-developed  public  sense  of  morality, 
strengthens  the  national  solidarity,  and  recruits  constantly 
precious  forces  for  the  work  of  the  commonweal.  In  the 
struggle  for  success  of  this  order,  disappointment  is  not  prob- 
able, for  if  the  competitors  are  m.any,  so  also  are  the  prizes. 
Caesar  preferred  to  be  the  first  in  the  village  rather  than 
the  second  in  Rome.  Now  to  be  first  in  Rome  is  difficult 
enough,  but  the  alternative  leaves  Caesar  the  choice  of  50,000 
situations. 

The  thirst  for  fame  seems  to  be  the  most  ideal  ambition. 
It  is  the  most  foolish  of  all.  In  no  case  is  the  appearance  so 
different  from  the  reality  as  in  the  case  of  celebrity.  To  him 
who  does  not  possess  it,  it  seems  the  sum  total  of  all  that  is 
splendid.  He  who,  according  to  the  general  opinion  of  his 
contemporaries,  possesses  it,  sees  that  it  contains  much  more 
bitterness  than  satisfaction,  and  that  it  is  not  worth  either  a 
night's  sleep  or  a  day's  effort. 

To  nothing  can  the  "vanity  of  vanities"  of  the  preacher 

xni  [7]  ; 


AMBITION 

be  so  well  applied  as  to  celebrity.     Dante  devoted  to  it  the 
Terzina: — 

"Non  e  1  mondan  rumor  altro  ch'un  fiato 
Del  vento  ch'  or  vien  quinci  ed  or  vien  quindi, 
E  cambia  nome  perche  cambia  lato." 

"World- renown  is  nothing  but  a  break  of  wind,  which 
blows  sometimes  from  here,  sometimes  from  there,  and  takes 
another  name  because  it  comes  from  another  direction." 

All  that  Falstaff  said  of  honor,  which  replaces  no  lost 
limb  and  brings  no  dead  to  life,  holds  good  of  fame.  What 
real  use,  what  tangible  advantage  does  it  bring  the  celebrated 
man?  His  name  is  famihar  to  the  world,  but  often  enough 
the  people  who  know  it  have  no  precise  idea  of  the  reason  why 
they  know  it,  and  of  the  signification  of  the  name. 

Sir  Richard  Wallace  presented  the  Parisians  with  some 
hundreds  of  pubKc  fountains.  They  are,  as  is  meet,  known  as 
"Wallace  Fountains,"  and  have  rendered  his  name  a  familiar 
sound  to  the  man  in  Parisian  streets.  A  reporter  once  over- 
heard the  following  dialogue  between  two  Paris  workmen: 
" Old  Wallace  is  dead ! "  "What  old  Wallace ? "  " You  know 
quite  well  what  Wallace,  the  man  who  made  his  fortune  in 
fountains." 

Fualdes  is  another  name  celebrated  throughout  France.  It 
is  that  of  a  man  who  was  cruelly  murdered  in  the  beginning 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  This  tragic  occurrence  gave  rise  to 
a  ballad  which  still  Hves  in  the  mouth  of  the  people.  Let 
any  one  ask  the  average  Frenchman  if  he  knows  Fualdes. 
Out  of  a  hundred  thus  asked,  ninety-nine  will  answer,  "  Fualdes  ? 
Certainly!  the  famous  murderer!" 

The  visiting  lady  of  a  Sunday-school  asked  the  children, 
"Do  you  know  what  a  poet  is?"  "Yes,"  answered  a  dozen 
voices.  "Give  me  a  name."  "Shakespeare."  "Very  good; 
now  do  you  know  what  Shakespeare  wrote  ?  "  General  silence, 
finally  broken  by  a  clear  voice,  "The  Bible,  mum." 

What  does  the  celebrated  man  personally  experience  from 

his  fame  ?    He  receives  daily  a  bushel  of  letters,  asking  him  for 

autographs,  the  minority  of  them  with  stamps  for  reply,  many 

insufficiently   prepaid,   some   not   prepaid   at   all.     Unknown 

XIII  [  8  ] 


AMBITION 

persons  honor  him  with  confidential  requests  for  assistance. 
Interviewers  force  their  way  in  on  him  when  he  is  obliged  to 
work  or  when  he  would  like  to  rest,  bother  him  with  indiscreet 
questions,  and  put  idiotic  replies  in  his  mouth.  Everybody 
claims  the  right  to  take  up  his  time  with  undesired  visits 
or  egotistical  letters,  and  he  makes  himself  active,  deadly 
foes,  when  he  does  not  answer  their  letters  or  receive  the 
visits. 

Authors  send  him  more  books  than  he  could  get  through  in 
ten  lifetimes  entirely  devoted  to  reading,  and  expect  from  him 
an  exhaustive  judgment,  with  his  reasons  for  forming  it.  If 
he  puts  off  the  bore  with  a  few  non- compromising  phrases, 
without  opening  the  work,  he  is  soon  found  out,  and  denounced 
as  a  hypocrite  and  a  liar.  If  he  frankly  declares  that  he  has  no 
time  for  books  which  do  not  He  within  his  speciaHty,  then  he 
gets  the  name  of  being  an  ill-mannered  boor  and  narrow- 
minded  pedant.  Every  imbecile  thinks  it  his  duty  to  give  his 
opinion  about  him,  and  many  of  these  imbeciles  put  their 
opinion  in  print.  People  who  also  desired  to  become  famous, 
but  who,  strange  to  say,  have  not  become  so,  revenge  themselves 
on  him  by  spreading  libellous  anecdotes  about  him,  and  these 
anecdotes  naturally  find  a  greater  number  of  people  to  repeat 
them  and  believe  them,  according  to  his  degree  of  celebrity. 
If  it  gives  him  pleasure  that  the  newspapers  should  occupy 
themselves  with  him,  his  enjoyment  will  be  marred  by  his 
observing  that  the  murderer  of  the  day  is  given  more  space 
than  the  poet  of  the  century.  Czolgosz  was,  I  believe,  more 
spoken  of  in  the  Press  in  fourteen  days  than  Tolstoi  in  a 
decade. 

The  flattering  conviction  that  his  fame  reaches  to  the  con- 
fines of  the  globe  is  supposed  to  indemnify  the  celebrated  man 
for  all  these  personal  inconveniences.  But  to  what  humilia- 
tions he  exposes  himself  if  he  tries  personally  to  test  his  degree 
of  fame!  People  have  always  believed  that  the  best-known 
name  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  that  of  Napoleon  I.  One 
day,  however,  Prince  Napoleon,  "Plon  Plon,"  came  medita- 
tively to  his  palace  and  said  to  the  guests  awaiting  him,  among 
whom  were  Sainte-Beuve  and  Renan,  that  he  had  just  had  a 
XIII  [9] 


AMBITION 

conversation  under  the  arcades  of  the  Palais  Royal  with  a 
woman  born  and  brought  up  in  Paris  who  had  never  heard  the 
name  of  Napoleon  and  had  no  notion  of  who  he  was. 

Ill 

It  is  exactly  for  this  imaginary  value,  for  fame,  which 
neither  offers  the  individual  the  tangible  satisfactions  of  ex- 
cessive wealth  nor  the  community  the  advantage  of  the  am- 
bitious struggle  for  civic  honors,  that  the  most  passionate  greed 
exists. 

This  is  easy  to  understand.  The  law  of  the  least  resistance 
explains  the  phenomenon. 

The  young  man  on  the  threshold  of  active  life,  who  desires 
to  become  famous,  naturally  strikes  upon  the  idea  to  try  it  by 
writing  a  book.  He  will  become  an  author  and  win  laurels 
with  his  pen.  This  requires  the  minimum  of  working  capital 
and  allows  him  to  cling  longest  to  subjective  illusions. 

Should  the  ambitious  young  man  try  for  fame  in  a  public 
career,  he  will  soon  be  convinced  that  success  cannot  be  at- 
tained by  him  if  he  has  not  the  necessary  quahties.  He  will 
fail  at  the  polls;  people  will  refuse  to  Hstento  his  pubHc  speeches; 
he  will  return  empty-handed  from  the  hunt  for  office.  That 
will,  if  he  is  at  all  capable  of  forming  a  judgment,  open  his  eyes, 
and  he  will  cease  an  effort  which  he  is  forced  to  see  has  no 
prospect  of  success. 

Should  he  desire  to  become  a  milliardaire,  every-day  hfe 
will  rapidly  make  it  clear  to  him  whether  or  not  he  has  anything 
to  hope  for  in  this  field.  He  will  know  at  any  minute  the  exact 
amount  of  his  cash  box.  He  will  know  what  he  is  worth. 
Figures  speak  loudly  and  clearly,  and  they  will  tell  him  if  his 
efforts  are  bearing  fruit  or  not.  We  meet,  it  is  true,  people 
down  at  heel  and  out  at  elbow  who  are  always  on  the  track  of 
phantom-hke  millions,  but  these  poor  fools  are  the  laughing- 
stocks  of  their  acquaintances.  Men,  too,  are  not  too  scarce 
who  have  actually  cHmbed  to  the  summit  of  the  gold  mountain, 
but  have  been  hurled  headlong  down,  to  He  at  the  foot  with 
broken  limbs.  These  keep  to  the  end  of  their  lives  the  hope 
XIII  [  lo  ] 


AMBITION 

of  once  more  reaching  the  top,  and  the  memory  of  their  short 
moment  of  glory  makes  them  incapable  of  a  sober  comprehen- 
sion of  their  position.  They  belong  to  the  most  lamentable 
victims  of  the  battle  of  life. 

The  man,  on  the  contrary,  who  hopes  to  win  fame  with  the 
pen  can  for  a  very  long  time,  perhaps  forever,  waste  his  strength 
and  his  time  without  being  forced  to  the  admission  that  he  has 
failed  to  find  the  proper  way.  In  order  to  create  an  immortal 
masterpiece,  all  that  is  required  is  some  paper,  ink,  and  a  pen. 
This  represents  a  starting  capital  of  say  ten  cents.  So  much 
even  the  poor  street  arab  can  find.  It  is  true  that  to  the  writing 
material  something  must  be  added — Genius.  But  this  the 
ambitious  youth  beheves  he  possesses.  He  therefore  sits  down 
and  writes.  The  work  will  probably  turn  out  to  his  satisfac- 
tion; for  the  less  talent  a  man  has,  the  more  mild  is  his  judg- 
ment of  his  efforts.  Who  is  to  open  his  eyes  to  the  worthless- 
ness  of  his  work  ?  His  friends,  if  he  finds  them  ready  to  listen 
to,  or  read,  his  elucubrations,  will  say  to  him,  ''That  is  trash." 
He  will  at  once  reply,  "Pearls  before  swine."  He  will  find 
no  pubhsher.  This  only  will  depress  him,  but  will  not  open 
his  eyes,  as  he  will  mentally  enumerate  all  the  anecdotes  of 
masterworks  which  were  refused  with  contempt  by  a  dozen 
pubhshers,  until  the  thirteenth  printed  it  reluctantly,  thereby 
acquiring  fame  and  fortune. 

Let  us  assume  the  book  is  not  so  very  bad,  only  mediocre; 
it  is  printed  and  comes  on  the  market.  The  critics  silence 
it  to  death — "Naturally,  the  conspiracy  of  silence!"  The 
critic  gives  it  a  notice  and  says  frankly  that  it  would  have  been 
better  left  unwritten,  without  any  loss  to  anybody  and  with 
distinct  advantage  to  the  author  and  publisher — "The  critics 
are  asses."  The  pubhc  refuses  to  buy  the  book — "They  are 
fools;  they  are  not  ripe  for  my  art  or  my  wisdom."  Thus 
can  an  author  go  for  a  whole  lifetime,  from  failure  to  failure, 
without  comprehending  that  the  cause  lies  in  himself.  His 
self-consciousness  resists  every  attack  like  an  adamantine 
rock.  He  is  clothed  in  armor,  impenetrable  to  reality,  by  •» 
his  illusions.  He  will  die  in  the  conviction  that  he  was  an 
unrecognized  genius,  and  that  posterity  will  accord  to  him  the 
xin  [  II  ] 


AMBITION 

justice  that  was  refused  to  him  by  the  blindness  of  his  con- 
temporaries. 

The  number  of  these  unhappy  people  is  counted  in  the 
world  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands.  Their  useless  Hfe  work 
represents  a  waste  of  energy  of  the  worst  kind.  Had  they  no 
ambition,  they  would  probably  be  of  economic  and  moral 
value  for  themselves  and  the  community.  Had  they  not  this 
passion  for  fame,  they  would  probably  in  every  walk  of  life  meet 
with  that  moderate  success  which  spells  happiness.  Whoever 
should  find  a  means  to  convince  this  army  of  deluded  dreamers 
that  in  the  struggle  in  which  they  have  engaged  victory  is  a  rare 
exception,  and  when  it  is  really  achieved  has  only  an  imaginary 
value,  would  be  one  of  the  greatest  benefactors  of  mankind. 

IV 

Literary  ambition  has  one  side  to  which  I  would  like  to 
draw  special  attention.  It  not  only  requires  but  the  smallest 
capital,  it  seems  also  to  impose  the  smallest  measure  of  dis- 
ciphne.  Any  other  work  seems  more  jealous  and  tyrannical 
than  literary  work.  I  have  already  said  that  for  a  masterpiece 
of  literature  a  sheet  of  paper,  a  pen,  and  some  ink  suffices. 
This  paper  one  can  write  upon  at  any  time  and  in  any  place, 
in  the  garret  or  on  the  bench  in  the  pubHc  promenade,  by  day 
or  by  night.  The  temptation  is  great  to  regard  literary  occu- 
pation as  something  that  one  can  carry  on  as  a  by- occupation, 
in  the  pauses  of  work,  in  the  night  hours,  on  Sundays  and 
holidays.  How  many  young  people  get  the  idea  of  trying 
hterature  because  the  attempt  costs  nothing.  It  is  so  inviting 
to  gamble  for  fame  without  the  game  requiring  any  stake. 
Every  other  occupation  in  which  one  hopes  to  achieve  success 
demands  peremptorily  the  whole  man.  One  must  devote 
body  and  soul  to  it,  give  up  to  every  minute  of  one's  time 
and  every  thought  of  one's  brain.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  any  one 
to  found  a  great  Trust  in  his  leisure  moments,  or  to  stand,  by 
way  of  an  amateur  sport,  for  a  post  as  senator  or  governor? 
Everybody  knows  he  can  do  nothing  else  when  he  does  this, 
and  if  he  is  not  rich  and  does  not  soon  achieve  success,  he  will 
xin  [ 12  ] 


AMBITION 

speedily  enough  abandon  an  occupation  which  brings  nothing 
in  and  hinders  him  earning  his  hving  by  more  remunerative 
work. 

Literature,  on  the  contrary,  seems  suitable  for  a  by-occu- 
pation; it  seems  an  excellent  plan  for  the  utilization  of  time- 
offals.  It  brings  the  apprentice,  the  beginner,  no  return,  but 
it  also  costs  him  nothing.  It  generously  permits  the  poor  man, 
who  has  nothing  but  his  time,  his  ambitions,  and  his  hopes,  to 
earn  the  indispensable  by  some  prosaic  work,  and  to  content 
himself  with  such  spare  time  as  he  can  find  after  the  paid 
labor.  It  is  a  tempting  thought  for  an  impecunious  but  ener- 
getic youth  that  want  of  means  is  not  a  hindrance  to  the  achiev- 
ing of  hterary  fame.  He  proudly  proclaims,  "I  work  by  day 
to  earn  my  bread,  and  by  night  to  win  fame." 

The  formula  is,  however,  a  delusion.  The  sooner  he  gives 
it  up,,  the  better  it  will  be  for  him  who  has  selected  it  as  his 
rule  of  life.  The  most  ordinary  common  sense  should  teach 
everybody  that  it  is  quite  hopeless  with  half  one's  strength  and 
during  the  hours  of  fatigue  after  a  long  day's  work  to  try  to 
win  prizes  in  a  career  that  is  open  to  every  one,  which  for  that 
reason  is  the  most  crowded,  and  where  the  competition  is  the 
keenest  and  most  pitiless  that  can  be  imagined.  In  a  horse- 
race a  difference  of  half  a  pound  may  be  decisive  for  the  victory. 
A  sleepless  night  would  deprive  a  Derby  favorite  of  all  chance. 
In  every  sporting  competition  the  greatest  care  is  taken  that 
the  competitors  are  in  the  very  best  form  and  not  handicapped 
by  any  fatigue,  any  preoccupation,  any  indisposition.  But 
the  same  young  man  who  would  never  dream  of  competing 
for  a  championship  in  some  athletic  sport  after  a  day's  work 
for  his  daily  bread,  because  he  knows  that  it  would  be  ridiculous 
to  measure  himself  against  a  trained,  fresh,  professional  com- 
petitor, if  he  is  not  himself  in  equally  good  condition,  will  not 
hesitate  under  the  same  predisposition  to  take  up  the  struggle 
for  a  literary  prize. 

A  lady  of  society  once  asked  Newton  how  he  had  made 
his  famous  discovery  of  the  law  of  gravitation.  Sir  Isaac 
answered,  "By  constantly  thinking  of  it,  madam."  That  is, 
together  with  inborn  talent,   the  secret  of  each  intellectual 

xni  1 13] 


AMBITION 

achievement.  The  inspiration  comes,  perhaps,  suddenly, 
though  this  is  in  no  way  proved,  for  it  is  Hkely,  even  probable, 
that  the  possible  sudden  irruption  of  an  idea  of  genius  into 
consciousness  was  preceded  by  a  may-be  long  preparatory 
work  below  the  threshold  of  consciousness,  on  which  the 
usual  occupation  of  the  mind  may  have  exercised  great  influ- 
ence. But  inspiration  is  not  everything.  In  a  literary  work 
the  working  out  is  quite  as  important,  and  the  elaboration,  in 
order  to  be  perfect,  demands  all  the  concentration  of  which 
one  is  capable,  all  attention,  all  freshness  of  brain;  in  short, 
according  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton's  formula,  "constant  thinking 
of  it." 

It  is  imaginable  that  a  man  who  by  day  earns  his  bread  by 
any  kind  of  work  may  devote,  with  good  results,  a  portion  of 
his  nights  to  acquiring  education.  Even  this  double  activity 
of  course  is  harmful  to  health,  but  if  it  does  not  last  too  long 
and  is  not  too  recklessly  overdone,  it  need  not  necessarily 
destroy  it.  The  memory  retains  what  it  can.  If  a  man  is  too 
fatigued  by  his  day's  work  or  too  preoccupied,  he  will  not 
profit  by  night  study.  One  must  linger  longer  over  a  page  of  a 
book;  it  requires  months  to  learn  things  which  one  with  a  fresh, 
well- concentrated,  well-rested  brain  would  acquire  in  weeks 
or  days.  The  goal  will  be  later  and  more  painfully  reached, 
but  it  can  be  reached,  and,  once  one  possesses  the  knowledge, 
no  one  can  perceive  that  it  was  acquired  in  hours  which  should 
have  been  devoted  to  sleep. 

There  are  enough  examples  of  successful  men  who  work  for 
their  daily  bread  by  day  and  study  by  night.  George  Smith, 
born  in  1840,  was  an  engraver  who  earned  48s.  a  week.  He 
had  to  engrave  the  plates  for  Sir  Henry  Rawlinson's  great  work 
on  Assyriology.  This  work  interested  him.  He  had  the  daring 
idea  of  studying  the  Assyrian  language  and  cuneiform  writing. 
He  did  this  in  the  night  and  in  his  leisure  moments  with  super- 
human application,  and  with  the  result  that  after  two  years' 
work,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  he  was  appointed  to  a  position 
in  the  Assyrian  Department  of  the  British  Museum,  and  soon 
after  became  world-famous  as  the  discoverer  and  decipherer 
of  the  cuneiform  version  of  the  biblical  story  of  the  Flood. 
XIII  [  14  ] 


AMBITION 

He  died  of  the  plague  at  Aleppo,  when  only  thirty-six  years 
old. 

Another  and  not  less  characteristic  case  is  that  of  Michael 
Faraday.  This  great  scientist,  who  lived  from  1791  to  1867, 
was  at  twenty-two  years  old  a  poor  ignorant  bookbinder,  who 
earned  perhaps  30s.  a  week.  He  had  a  consuming  thirst  for 
knowledge  and  no  means  of  stilling  it.  He  greedily  devoured 
the  books  given  him  to  bind,  acquired  bit  by  bit  some  elements 
of  knowledge,  and  obtained,  by  means  of  it,  admission  to  a 
physical  laboratory,  where  his  genius  could  freely  develop 
itself. 

Similar,  only  reversed,  is  the  case  of  the  celebrated  Professor 
of  CHnical  Medicine  in  the  Paris  Faculty,  J.  Jaccoud.  In 
addition  to  his  gift  for  medicine  he  had  a  pretty  talent  for  the 
violin.  He  obtained  a  place  in  an  orchestra,  played  half  the 
night  in  the  theatres  and  at  balls,  earned  in  this  fashion 
perhaps  200  francs  a  month,  and  was  able  to  study  medicine 
by  day. 

It  is,  however,  one  thing  to  learn,  something  different  to 
create.  The  memory  still  continues  to  serve  after  a  long, 
trying  day's  work ;  the  creative  force  of  the  imagination  cannot 
then  possibly  be  at  its  height.  With  a  tired  brain  one  learns 
more  slowly,  but  one  learns ;  one  creates  not  slower,  but  weaker, 
worse,  or  not  at  all.  It  does  not  alter  the  quality  of  knowledge 
that  one  acquired  it  under  peculiar  difficulties;  the  quality 
of  a  literary  work  is  incurably  deteriorated  by  being  conceived 
and  carried  out  by  an  exhausted  brain.  I  have  been  able  to 
give  examples  of  scientists  who  worked  by  day  for  bread  and 
by  night  for  knowledge,  and  it  would  be  easy  to  add  to  these 
other  similar  cases.  I  know,  however,  no  single  example 
where  a  man  after  the  daily  work  for  bread  has  produced  in 
the  night  hours  a  work  which  achieved  fame. 

This  affirmation  needs  being  qualified  on  one  point  only. 
Short  lyrical  poems  could,  under  such  circumstances,  as  a 
matter  of  exception,  be  successfully  composed,  because  in  this 
case  the  inspiration  is  everything,  and  the  elaboration  demands 
less  material  work  than  a  novel,  a  drama,  or  a  great  essay. 
The  few  men  who,  by  amateur  work  in  the  night  after  their 
XIII  [15] 


AMBITION 

professional  work  by  day,  have  acquired  fame  in  literature 
are  all  lyric  poets.  I  may  name  the  New  York  Ghetto-poet 
Morris  Rosenfeld,  who  by  day  worried  himself  as  tailor  in  a 
sweating-shop  for  a  pittance,  and  at  night  composed  songs  in 
Jewish  jargon  of  deep  emotion,  which  endeared  him  to  all  who 
understand  this  jargon.  Johanna  Ambrosius,  a  simple  East 
Prussian  peasant  woman,  looked  after  her  household,  did  her 
duty  as  wife  and  mother  of  a  numerous  family,  and  made  use 
of  her  rare  hours  of  leisure  to  write  poems.  Her  verses  had  on 
their  pubhcation  great  success.  It  is  true  that  this  is  to  be 
ascribed  more  to  a  sentimental  interest  in  the  fate  of  the  poetess 
than  to  the  value  of  the  poems  themselves. 

Other  examples  which  one  might  cite  prove  nothing.  Hans 
Sachs  was  a  famous  poet  without  ceasing  to  be  a  shoemaker. 
But  then,  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  a  handi- 
craft had,  according  to  the  German  saying,  "a  golden  bottom," 
and  Hans  Sachs  was  sufficiently  well-to-do  to  have  as  much 
time  to  spare  for  writing  poetry  as  he  desired.  John  Bunyan 
first  began  to  write  when  he  had  laid  aside  the  tinker's  tools 
and  lived  by  his  preaching.  The  Pilgrim'' s  Progress  is  the  work 
of  a  man  who,  while  he  was  writing  his  book,  thought  of  nothing 
else.  Robert  Burns  had,  as  a  farmer,  spare  time  in  the  winter 
months,  apart  from  the  fact  that  a  lyrical  genius  can  compose 
a  short  song  while  he  is  driving  the  plough.  The  barber 
Jasmin  (i  798-1864),  the  well-known  Provencal  poet,  really 
handled  the  razor,  scissors,  and  comb  less  than  the  pen,  and  it 
was  shrewd  coquetterie  on  his  part  that  he  still  kept  his  barber's 
shop  when,  in  fact,  he  was  nothing  else  but  a  professional 
writer. 

It  is  not  the  night  work  of  itself  that  is  incompatible  with 
good  literary  work.  Schiller,  when  he  was  in  full  swing,  wrote 
the  whole  night  through  in  spite  of  the  great  harm  it  did  his 
health,  and  Lord  Byron  preferred  to  compose  at  night  in  com- 
pany with  a  bottle  of  brandy.  But  these  men  had  no  different 
day  occupation  to  distract  them.  They  had  no  other  idea  in 
their  heads,  day  and  night,  but  their  work. 

Only  by  means  of  this  complete  concentration  is  success 
possible.  Good  literary  work  suffers  no  other  occupation 
xm  [  16  ] 


AMBITION 

beside  it.  Whoever  is  so  poor  that  he  must  earn  his  bread  by 
subaltern  labor  will  seek  in  vain  to  pursue  fame  in  the  night 
hours.  He  will  not  achieve  celebrity,  but  will  certainly  en- 
danger his  health  and  shorten  his  hf e. 

In  every  other  field  overwork  only  harms  the  worker.  In  the 
field  of  literature  it  harms  the  work.  In  ancient  time  it  was 
already  a  reproach  when  a  critic  remarked  that  a  book  smelt 
of  the  oil  of  the  midnight  lamp.  When  to  the  smell  of  that 
oil  is  added  that  of  the  sweat  of  a  heterogeneous  day- worker., 
the  book  will  be  completely  unpalatable. 


XIII  [  17  ] 


XIV 

OUR  PAST 

"THE  LESSON  OF  THE  PAST" 

BY 

MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 


r'HE  materialist,  as  represented  by  Nordau,  looks  to  the 
material^  and  life  seems  shallow.  The  idealist  sees 
tn  it  a  deeper  meaning  and  a  greater  worth.  Maurice  Maeter- 
linck, the  well-known  Belgian  writer,  has  been  called  a 
mystic,  and  the  word  has  led  some  over -busy  folk  to  dismiss 
him  from  mind  as  an  idle  dreamer;  yet  he  is  held  by  many 
critics  to  be  the  most  valuable  oj  living  philosophers.  It  has  been 
said  of  him  that  he  bids  fair  to  increase  ''the  world's  permanent 
stock  of  wisdom.'^  There  have  been  few  men  in  any  one  cen- 
tury for  whom  this  high  claim  could  be  made. 

Let  us  then  approach  with  Maeterlinck  the  heights  of  medita- 
tion. Here  is  no  scientific  measuring  of  material  things,  but  an 
attempt  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  things  immeasurable,  to  readjust 
our  ways  of  thinking  and  our  entire  plane  of  thought.  What 
is  said  here  is  true.  It  is  more  than  true,  it  is  divinely  inspiring, 
encouraging,  and  resurrecting.  It  is  such  a  word  as  the  proph- 
ets gave  to  man.  To  dismiss  it  with  an  idle,  scurried  read- 
ing, such  as  one  gives  the  latest  novel,  is  a  folly  that  reacts  upon 
the  reader.  To  meditate  and  ponder  well  upon  its  thought 
may  mean  a  revolution  in  a  gloomy  life,  a  reformation  in  a 
wasted  one, 

I 

Our  past  stretches  behind  us  in  long  perspective.     It  slum- 
bers on  the  far  horizon  like  a  deserted  city  shrouded  in  mist. 
A  few  peaks  mark  its  boundary,  and  soar  predominant  into  the 
air;  a  few  important  acts  stand  out,  Hke  towers,  some  with 
XIV  [  I  ] 


OUR   PAST 

the  light  still  upon  them,  others  half  ruined  and  slowly  de- 
caying beneath  the  weight  of  oblivion.  The  trees  are  bare, 
the  walls  crumble,  and  shadow  slowly  steals  over  all.  Every- 
thing seems  to  be  dead  there,  and  rigid,  save  only  when  memory, 
slowly  decomposing,  lights  it  for  an  instant  with  an  illusory 
gleam.  But  apart  from  this  animation,  derived  only  from 
our  expiring  recollections,  all  would  appear  to  be  definitely 
motionless,  immutable  forever;  divided  from  present  and  future 
by  a  river  that  shall  not  again  be  crossed. 

In  reality  it  is  alive;  and,  for  many  of  us,  endowed  with  a 
profounder,  more  ardent  life  than  either  present  or  future.  In 
reality  this  dead  city  is  often  the  hotbed  of  our  existence :  and 
in  accordance  with  the  spirit  in  v/hich  men  return  to  it  shall 
some  find  all  their  wealth  there,  and  others  lose  what  they  have. 

II 

Our  conception  of  the  past  has  much  in  common  with  our 
conception  of  love  and  happiness,  destiny,  justice,  and  most 
of  the  vague  but  therefore  not  less  potent  spiritual  organisms 
that  stand  for  the  mighty  forces  we  obey.  Our  ideas  have  been 
handed  down  to  us  ready-made  by  our  predecessors;  and 
even  when  our  second  cousciousness  wakes,  and,  proud  in  its 
conviction  that  henceforth  nothing  shall  be  accepted  bHndly, 
proceeds  most  carefully  to  investigate  these  ideas,  it  will  squan- 
der its  time  questioning  those  that  loudly  protest  their  right 
to  be  heard,  and  pay  no  heed  to  the  others  close  by,  that  as 
yet,  perhaps,  have  said  nothing.  Nor  have  we,  as  a  rule,  far  to 
go  to  discover  these  others.  They  are  in  us  and  of  us:  they 
wait  for  us  to  address  them.  They  are  not  idle,  notwith- 
standing their  silence.  Amid  the  noise  and  babble  of  the 
crowd,  they  are  tranquilly  directing  a  portion  of  our  real  life; 
and  as  they  are  nearer  the  truth  than  their  self-satisfied  sisters, 
they  will  often  be  far  more  simple,  and  far  more  beautiful  too. 

m 

Among  the  most  stubborn  of  these  ready-made  ideas  are 
those  that  preside  over  our  conception  of  the  past,  and  render 
it  a  force  as  imposing  and  rigid  as  destiny;  a  force  that  indeed 
XIV  [  2  ] 


OUR  PAST 

becomes  destiny  working  backward,  with  its  hand  outstretched 
to  the  destiny  that  burrows  ahead,  to  which  it  transmits  the 
last  Hnk  of  our  chains.  The  one  thrusts  us  back,  the  other 
urges  us  forward,  with  a  Uke  irresistible  violence.  But  the 
violence  of  the  past  is  perhaps  more  terrible,  and  m.ore  alarrri- 
ing.  One  may  disbeheve  in  destiny.  It  is  a  god  whose  on- 
slaught many  have  never  experienced.  But  no  one  would 
dream  of  denying  the  oppressiveness  of  the  past.  Sooner  or 
later  its  effect  must  inevitably  be  felt.  Those  even  who  re- 
fuse to  admit  the  intangible,  will  credit  the  past,  which  their 
finger  can  touch,  with  all  the  mystery,  the  influence,  the  sov- 
ereign intervention  whereof  they  have  stripped  the  powers 
that  they  have  dethroned ;  thus  rendering  it  the  almost  unique 
and  therefore  more  dreadful  god  of  their  depopulated 
Olympus. 

IV 

The  force  of  the  past  is  indeed  one  of  the  heaviest  that 
weigh  upon  men  and  incline  them  to  sadness.  And  yet  there 
is  none  more  docile,  more  eager  to  follow  the  direction  we 
could  so  readily  give,  did  we  but  know  how  best  to  avail  our- 
selves of  this  docihty.  In  reality,  if  we  think  of  it,  the  past 
belongs  to  us  quite  as  much  as  the  present,  and  is  far  more 
malleable  than  the  future.  Like  the  present,  and  to  a  much 
greater  extent  than  the  future,  its  exsistence  is  all  in  our  thoughts 
and  our  hand  controls  it;  nor  is  this  only  true  of  our  material 
past,  wherein  there  are  ruins  that  we  perhaps  can  restore;  it 
is  true  also  of  the  regions  that  are  closed  to  our  tardy  desire 
for  atonement,  it  is  true  above  all  of  our  moral  past,  and  of 
what  we  consider  to  be  most  irreparable  there. 

.V 

"The  past  is  past,"  we  say,  and  it  is  false:  the  past  is 
always  present.  "We  have  to  bear  the  burden  of  our  past," 
we  sigh;  and  it  is  false;  the  past  bears  our  burden.  "Noth- 
ing can  wipe  out  the  past";  and  it  is  false:  the  least  effort 
of  will  sends  present  and  future  travelling  over  the  past,  to 
efface  whatever  we  bid  them  efface.  "The  indestructible, 
XIV  [  3  ] 


OUR   PAST 

irreparable,  immutable  past!"  And  that  is  no  truer  than  the 
rest.  In  those  who  speak  thus  it  is  the  present  that  is  immu- 
table, and  knows  not  how  to  repair.  ''My  past  is  wicked,  it  is 
sorrowful,  empty,"  we  say  again:  "As  I  look  back  I  can  see 
no  moment  of  beauty,  of  happiness,  or  love:  I  see  nothing 
but  wretched  ruins.  ..."  And  that  is  false;  for  you  see 
precisely  what  you  yourself  place  there  at  the  moment  your 
eyes  rest  upon  it. 

VI 

Our  past  depends  entirely  upon  our  present,  and  is  con- 
stantly changing  with  it.  Our  past  is  contained  in  our  memory, 
and  this  memory  of  ours,  that  feeds  on  our  heart  and  brain,  and 
is  incessantly  swayed  by  them,  is  the  most  variable  being  in 
the  world,  the  least  independent,  the  most  impressionable. 
Our  chief  concern  with  the  past,  that  which  truly  remains  and 
forms  part  of  us,  is  not  what  we  have  done  or  the  adventures 
that  we  have  met  with,  but  the  moral  reactions  bygone  events 
are  producing  within  us  at  this  very  moment,  the  inward  being 
that  they  have  helped  to  form;  and  these  reactions,  whence 
there  arises  our  sovereign,  intimate  being,  are  wholly  governed 
by  the  manner  in  which  we  regard  past  events,  and  vary  as 
the  moral  substance  varies  that  they  encounter  within  us.  But 
with  every  step  in  advance  that  our  feelings  or  intellect  takes 
will  come  a  change  in  this  moral  substance,  and  then,  on  the 
instant,  the  most  immutable  facts,  that  seemed  to  be  graven 
forever  on  the  stone  and  bronze  of  the  past,  will  assume  an  en- 
tirely different  aspect,  will  return  to  life  and  leap  into  move- 
ment, bringing  us  vaster  and  more  courageous  counsels,  drag- 
ging memory  aloft  with  them  in  their  ascent;  and  what  was 
once  a  mass  of  ruin,  mouldering  in  the  darkness,  becomes 
a  populous  city  whereon  the  sun  shines  again. 

VII 

We  have  an  arbitrary  fashion  of   establishing  a  certain 

number  of  events  behind  us.     We  relegate  them  to  the  horizon 

of  our  memory,  and  having  set  them  there  we  tell  ourselves 

that  they  form  part  of  a  world  in  which  the  united  efforts  of 

XIV  [  4  ] 


OUR  PAST 

all  mankind  could  not  wipe  away  a  tear  or  cause  a  flower  to 
raise  its  head.  And  yet,  while  admitting  that  these  events 
have  passed  beyond  our  control,  we  still,  with  the  most  curious 
inconsistency,  beheve  that  they  have  full  control  over  us. 
Whereas  the  truth  is  that  they  can  only  act  upon  us  to  the 
extent  in  which  we  have  renounced  our  right  to  act  upon  them. 
The  past  asserts  itself  only  in  those  whose  moral  growth  has 
ceased;  then,  and  not  till  then,  does  it  truly  become  redoubta- 
ble. From  that  moment  we  have  indeed  the  irreparable  be- 
hind us  and  the  weight  of  what  we  have  done  lies  heavy  upon 
our  shoulders.  But  so  long  as  the  life  of  our  mind  and  charac- 
ter flows  uninterruptedly  on,  so  long  will  the  past  remain  in 
suspense  above  us;  and,  as  the  glance  may  be  that  we  send 
toward  it,  will  it,  complaisant  as  the  clouds  Hamlet  showed  to 
Polonius,  adopt  the  shape  of  the  hope  or  fear,  the  peace  or 
disquiet,  that  we  are  perfecting  within  us. 


VIII 

No  sooner  has  our  moral  activity  weakened  than  accom- 
plished events  rush  forward  and  assail  us;  and  woe  to  him 
who  opens  the  door  and  permits  them  to  take  possession  of 
his  hearth!  Each  one  will  vie  with  the  other  in  overwhelming 
him  with  the  gifts  best  calculated  to  shatter  his  courage.  It 
matters  not  whether  our  past  has  been  happy  and  noble,  or 
lugubrious  and  criminal,  the  danger  shall  be  no  less  if  we  per- 
mit it  to  enter,  not  as  an  invited  guest,  but  like  a  parasite 
settling  upon  us.  The  result  will  be  either  sterile  regret  or 
impotent  remorse,  and  remorse  and  regrets  of  this  kind  are 
equally  disastrous.  In  order  to  draw  from  the  past  what  is 
precious  within  it — and  most  of  our  wealth  is  there — we  must 
go  to  it  at  the  hour  when  we  are  strongest,  most  conscious  of 
mastery;  enter  its  domain  and  make  choice  there  of  what  we 
require,  discarding  the  rest,  and  commanding  it  never  to  cross 
our  threshold  without  our  order.  Like  all  things  that  only 
can  live  at  the  cost  of  our  spiritual  strength,  it  will  soon  learn 
to  obey.  At  first,  perhaps,  it  will  endeavor  to  resist.  It  will 
have  recourse  to  artifice  and  prayer.  It  will  try  to  tempt  us, 
XIV  [  5  ] 


OUR  PAST 

to  cajole.  It  will  drag  forward  frustrated  hopes  and  joys  that 
are  gone  forever,  broken  affections,  well-merited  reproaches, 
expiring  hatred  and  love  that  is  dead,  squandered  faith  and 
perished  beauty;  it  will  thrust  before  us  all  that  once  had  been 
the  marvellous  essence  of  our  ardor  for  life;  it  will  point  to 
the  beckoning  sorrows,  decaying  happiness,  that  now  haunt  the 
ruin.  But  we  shall  pass  by  without  turning  our  head;  our 
hand  shall  scatter  the  crowd  of  memories,  even  as  the  sage 
Ulysses,  in  the  Cimmerian  night,  with  his  sword  prevented 
the  shades — even  that  of  his  mother,  whom  it  was  not  his 
mission  to  question — from  approaching  the  black  blood  that 
would  for  an  instant  have  given  them  life  and  speech.  We 
shall  go  straight  to  the  joy,  the  regret  or  remorse,  whose  counsel 
we  need;  or  to  the  act  of  injustice  it  behooves  us  scrupulously 
to  examine,  in  order  either  to  make  reparation,  if  such  still  be 
possible,  or  that  the  sight  of  the  wrong  we  did,  whose  victims 
have  ceased  to  be,  is  required  to  give  us  the  indispensable 
force  that  shall  lift  us  above  the  injustice  it  still  lies  in  us  to 
commit. 

IX 

Yes,  even  though  our  past  contain  crimes  that  now  are  be- 
yond the  reach  of  our  best  endeavors,  even  then,  if  we  consider 
the  circumstances  of  time  and  place  and  the  vast  plane  of  each 
human  existence,  these  crimes  fade  out  of  our  life  the  moment 
we  feel  that  no  temptation,  no  power  on  earth,  could  ever 
induce  us  to  commit  the  like  again.  The  world  has  not  for- 
given— there  is  but  Httle  that  the  external  sphere  will  forget 
or  forgive — and  their  material  effects  will  continue,  for  the  laws 
of  cause  and  effect  are  different  from  those  which  govern 
our  consciousness.  At  the  tribunal  of  our  personal  justice, 
however — the  only  tribunal  which  has  decisive  action  on  our 
inaccessible  life,  as  it  is  the  only  one  whose  decrees  we  cannot 
evade,  whose  concrete  judgments  stir  us  to  our  very  marrow — 
the  evil  action  that  we  regard  from  a  loftier  plane  than  that 
at  which  it  was  committed,  becomes  an  action  that  no  longer 
exists  for  us  save  in  so  far  as  it  may  serve  in  the  future  to  render 
our  fall  more  difficult;  nor  has  it  the  right  to  Hft  its  head  again 
XIV  [  6  ] 


OUR  PAST 

except  at  the  moment  when  we  incline  once  more  toward  the 
abyss  it  guards. 

Bitter,  surely,  must  be  the  grief  of  him  in  whose  past  there 
are  acts  of  injustice  whereof  every  avenue  now  is  closed,  who 
is  no  longer  able  to  seek  out  his  victims  and  raise  them  and  com- 
fort them.  To  have  abused  one's  strength  in  order  to  despoil 
some  feeble  creature  who  has  definitely  succumbed  beneath  the 
blow,  to  have  callously  thrust  suffering  upon  a  loving  heart, 
or  merely  misunderstood  and  passed  by  a  touching  affection 
that  offered  itself — these  things  must  of  necessity  weigh  heavily 
upon  our  life,  and  induce  a  sorrow  within  us  that  shall  not 
readily  be  forgotten.  But  it  depends  on  the  actual  point  our 
consciousness  has  attained  whether  our  entire  moral  destiny 
shall  be  depressed  or  lifted  beneath  this  burden.  Our  actions 
rarely  die;  and  many  unjust  deeds  of  ours  will  therefore  inevi- 
tably return  to  hf  e  some  day  to  claim  their  due  and  start  legitimate 
reprisals.  They  will  find  our  external  life  without  defence; 
but  before  they  can  reach  the  inward  being  at  the  centre  of  that 
Hfe  they  must  first  listen  to  the  judgment  we  have  already 
passed  on  ourselves;  and  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of 
that  judgment  will  the  attitude  be  of  these  mysterious  envoys, 
who  have  come  from  the  depths  where  cause  and  effect  are 
established  in  eternal  equilibrium.  If  it  has  indeed  been  from 
the  heights  of  our  newly  acquired  consciousness  that  we  have 
questioned  ourselves,  and  condemned,  they  will  not  be  menac- 
ing justiciaries  whom  we  shall  suddenly  see  surging  in  from 
all  sides,  but  benevolent  visitors,  friends  we  have  almost  ex- 
pected; and  they  will  draw  near  us  in  silence.  They  know  in 
advance  that  the  man  before  them  is  no  longer  the  guilty  creature 
they  sought;  and  instead  of  coming  to  us  charged  with  ideas 
of  hatred,  revolt,  and  despair,  with  punishments  that  degrade 
and  kill,  they  will  flood  our  heart  with  thought  and  contrition 
that  ennoble,  purify,  and  console. 

X 

The  manner  in  which  we  are  able  to  recall  what  we  have 
done  or  suffered  is  far  more  important  than  our  actual  suffer- 
ings or  deeds.     This  is  one  of  the  many  features — all  governed 
XIV  [7] 


OUR  PAST 

by  the  amount  of  confidence  and  zeal  we  possess — that  distin- 
guish the  man  who  is  happy  and  strong  from  him  who  weeps 
and  will  not  be  comforted.  No  past,  viewed  by  itself,  can  seem 
happy;  and  the  privileged  of  fate,  who  reflect  on  what  remains 
of  the  happy  years  that  have  flown,  have  perhaps  more  reason 
for  sorrow  than  the  unfortunate  ones  who  brood  over  the  dregs 
of  a  life  of  wretchedness.  Whatever  was  one  day,  and  now  is 
no  longer,  makes  for  sadness;  above  all,  whatever  was  very 
happy  and  very  beautiful.  The  object  of  our  regrets — whether 
these  revolve  around  what  has  been  or  what  might  have  been — 
is  therefore  more  or  less  the  same  for  all  men,  and  their  sorrow 
should  be  the  same.  It  is  not,  however;  in  one  case  it  will 
reign  uninterruptedly,  whereas  in  another  it  will  only  appear 
at  very  long  intervals.  It  must  therefore  depend  on  things 
other  than  accomplished  facts.  It  depends  on  the  manner 
in  which  men  will  act  on  these  facts.  The  conquerors  in  this 
world — those  who  waste  no  time  setting  up  an  imaginary 
irreparable  and  immutable  athwart  their  horizon,  those  who 
seem  to  be  born  afresh  every  morning  in  the  world  that  forever 
awakes  anew  to  the  future — these  know  instinctively  that 
what  appears  to  exist  no  longer  is  still  existing  intact,  that 
what  appeared  to  be  ended  is  only  completing  itself.  They 
know  that  the  years  time  has  taken  from  them  are  still  in  trav- 
ail; under  their  new  master,  obeying  the  old.  They  know 
that  their  past  is  forever  in  movement;  that  the  yesterday 
which  was  despondent,  decrepit,  and  criminal,  will  return  full 
of  joyousness,  innocence,  youth  in  the  track  of  to-morrow. 
They  know  that  their  image  is  not  yet  stamped  on  the  days 
that  are  gone:  that  a  decisive  deed,  or  thought,  will  suffice  to 
break  down  the  whole  edifice;  that  however  remote  or  vast 
the  shadow  may  be  that  stretches  behind  them,  they  have  only 
to  put  forth  a  gesture  of  gladness  or  hope  for  the  shadow  at 
once  to  copy  this  gesture,  and,  flashing  it  back  to  the  remotest, 
tiniest  ruins  of  early  childhood  even,  to  extract  unexpected 
treasure  from  all  this  wreckage.  They  know  that  they  have 
retrospective  action  on  all  bygone  deeds;  and  that  the  dead 
themselves  will  annul  their  verdicts  in  order  to  judge  afresh 
a  past  that  to-day  has  transfigured  and  endowed  with  new  Hfe. 
XIV  [8] 


OUR   PAST 

They  are  fortunate  who  find  this  instinct  in  the  folds  of 
their  cradle.  But  may  the  others  not  imitate  it  who  have  it 
not ;  and  is  not  human  wisdom  charged  to  teach  us  how  we  may 
acouire  the  salutary  instincts  that  nature  has  withheld  ? 

XI 

Let  us  not  lull  ourselves  to  sleep  in  our  past :  and  if  we  find 
that  it  tends  to  spread  Hke  a  vault  over  our  life,  instead  of 
incessantly  changing  beneath  our  eye :  if  the  present  grow  into 
the  habit  of  visiting  it,  not  like  a  good  workman  repairing 
thither  to  execute  the  labors  imposed  upon  him  by  the  com- 
mands of  to-day,  but  as  a  too  passive,  too  credulous  pilgrim 
content  idly  to  contemplate  beautiful,  motionless  ruins — 
then,  the  more  glorious,  the  happier,  that  our  past  may  have 
been,  with  all  the  more  suspicion  should  it  be  regarded  by  us. 

Nor  should  we  yield  to  the  instinct  that  bids  us  accord  it 
profound  respect,  if  this  respect  induce  the  fear  in  us  that 
we  may  disturb  its  nice  equihbrium.  Better  the  ordinary 
past,  content  with  its  befitting  place  in  the  shadow,  than  the 
sumptuous  past  which  claims  to  govern  what  has  travelled  out 
of  its  reach.  Better  a  mediocre,  but  living,  present,  which 
acts  as  though  it  were  alone  in  the  world,  than  a  present  which 
proudly  expires  in  the  chains  of  a  marvellous  long  ago.  A 
single  step  that  we  take  at  this  hour  toward  an  uncertain  goal 
is  far  more  important  to  us  than  the  thousand  leagues  we 
covered  in  our  march  toward  a  dazzling  triumph  in  the  days 
that  were.  Our  past  had  no  other  mission  than  to  lift  us  to 
the  moment  at  which  we  are,  and  there  equip  us  with  the  needful 
experience  and  weapons,  the  needful  thought  and  gladness. 
If,  at  this  precise  moment,  it  take  from  us  and  divert  to  itself 
one  particle  of  our  energy,  then,  however  glorious  it  may  have 
been,  it  still  was  useless,  and  had  better  never  have  been. 
If  we  allow  it  to  arrest  a  gesture  that  we  were  about  to  make, 
then  is  our  death  beginning ;  and  the  edifices  of  the  future  will 
suddenly  take  the  semblance  of  tombs. 

More  dangerous  still  than  the  past  of  happiness  and  glory 
is  the  one  inhabited  by  overpowering  and  too  dearly  cherished 
phantoms.  Many  an  existence  perishes  in  the  coils  of  a  fond 
XIV  [  9  ] 


OUR  PAST 

recollection.  And  yet,  were  the  dead  to  return  to  this  earth, 
they  would  say,  I  fancy,  with  the  wisdom  that  must  be  theirs 
who  have  seen  what  the  ephemeral  Hght  still  hides  from  us: 
''Dry  your  eyes.  There  comes  to  us  no  comfort  from  your 
tears;  exhausting  you,  they  exhaust  us  also.  Detach  your- 
self from  us,  banish  us  from  your  thoughts,  until  such  time  as 
you  can  think  of  us  without  strewing  tears  on  the  hfe  we  still 
live  in  you.  We  endure  only  in  your  recollection;  but  you  err 
in  beheving  that  your  regrets  alone  can  touch  us.  It  is  the 
things  you  do  that  prove  to  us  we  are  not  forgotten  and  rejoice 
our  manes:  and  this  without  your  knowing  it,  without  any 
necessity  that  you  should  turn  toward  us.  Each  time  that 
our  pale  image  saddens  your  ardor,  we  feel  ourselves  die  anew, 
and  it  is  a  more  perceptible,  irrevocable  death  than  was  our 
other;  bending  too  often  over  our  tombs,  you  rob  us  of  the  life, 
the  courage  and  love,  that  you  imagine  you  restore. 

''It  is  in  you  that  we  are:  it  is  in  all  your  life  that  our  life 
resides;  and  as  you  become  greater,  even  while  forgetting  us, 
so  do  we  become  greater  too,  and  our  shades  draw  the  deep 
breath  ot  prisoners  whose  prison  door  is  flung  open. 

"If  there  be  anything  new  we  have  learned  in  the  world 
where  we  are,  it  is,  first  of  all,  that  the  good  we  did  to  you  when 
we  were,  like  yourselves,  on  the  earth,  does  not  balance  the 
evil  wrought  by  a  memory  which  saps  the  force  and  the  con- 
fidence of  Hfe." 

XII 

Above  all,  let  us  envy  the  past  of  no  man.  Our  own  past 
was  created  by  ourselves,  and  for  ourselves  alone.  No  other 
could  have  suited  us,  no  other  could  have  taught  us  the  truth 
that  it  alone  can  teach,  or  given  the  strength  that  it  alone  can 
give.  And  whether  it  be  good  or  bad,  sombre  or  radiant,  it 
still  remains  a  collection  of  unique  masterpieces  the  value  of 
which  is  known  to  none  but  ourselves;  and  no  foreign  master- 
piece could  equal  the  action  we  have  accomplished,  the  kiss 
we  received,  the  thing  of  beauty  that  moved  us  so  deeply,  the 
suffering  we  underwent,  the  anguish  that  held  us  enchained, 
the  love  that  wreathed  us  in  smiles  or  in  tears.  Our  past  is 
XIV  [  lO  ] 


OUR  PAST 

ourselves,  what  we  are  and  shall  be;  and  upon  this  unknown 
sphere  there  moves  no  creature,  from  the  happiest  down  to 
the  most  unfortunate,  who  could  foretell  how  great  a  loss  would 
be  his  could  he  substitute  the  trace  of  another  for  the  trace 
which  he  himself  must  leave  in  life.  Our  past  is  our  secret 
promulgated  by  the  voice  of  years:  it  is  the  most  mysterious 
image  of  our  being,  over  which  Time  keeps  watch.  The  image 
is  not  dead :  a  mere  nothing  degrades  or  adorns  it :  it  can  still 
grow  bright  or  sombre,  can  still  smile  or  weep,  express  love  or 
hatred;  and  yet  it  remains  recognizable  forever  in  the  midst 
of  the  myriad  images  that  surround  it.  It  stands  for  what  we 
once  were,  as  our  aspirations  and  hopes  stand  for'  what  we 
shall  be;  and  the  two  faces  blend  that  they  may  teach  us  what 
we  are. 

Let  us  not  envy  the  facts  of  the  past,  but  rather  the  spiritual 
garment  that  the  recollection  of  days  long  gone  will  weave 
around  the  sage.  And  though  this  garment  be  woven  of  joy 
or  of  sorrow,  though  it  be  drawn  from  the  dearth  of  events  or 
from  their  abundance,  it  shall  still  be  equally  precious;  and 
those  who  may  see  it  shining  over  a  Hfe  shall  not  be  able  to 
tell  whether  its  quickening  jewels  and  stars  were  found  amid 
the  grudging  cinders  of  a  cabin  or  upon  the  steps  of  a  palace. 

No  past  can  be  empty  or  squaHd,  no  events  can  be  wretched ; 
the  wretchedness  hes  in  our  manner  of  welcoming  them.  And 
if  it  were  true  that  nothing  had  happened  to  you,  that  would 
be  the  most  astounding  adventure  that  any  man  ever  had  met 
with;  and  no  less  remarkable  would  be  the  Hght  it  would  shed 
upon  you.  In  reality  the  facts,  the  opportunities  and  possi- 
bilities, the  passions,  that  await  and  invite  the  majority  of  men, 
are  all  more  or  less  the  same.  Some  may  be  more  dazzHng 
than  others;  their  attendant  circumstances  may  differ,  but 
they  differ  far  less  than  the  inward  reactions  that  follow;  and 
the  insignificant,  incomplete  event  that  falls  on  a  fertile  heart 
and  brain  will  readily  attain  the  moral  proportions  and  grandeur 
of  an  analogous  incident  which,  on  another  plane,  will  con- 
vulse a  whole  people. 

He  who  should  see,  spread  out  before  him,  the  past  lives 
of  a  multitude  of  men,  could  not  easily  decide  which  past  he 
XIV  :[  lii  ] 


OUR   PAST 

himself  would  wish  to  have  lived,  were  he  not  able  at  the  same 
time  to  witness  the  moral  results  of  these  dissimilar  and  un- 
symmetrical  facts.  He  might  not  impossibly  make  a  fatal 
blunder:  he  might  choose  an  existence  overflowing  with  in- 
comparable happiness  and  victory,  that  sparkle  like  wonderful 
jewels;  while  his  glance  might  travel  indifferently  over  a  life 
that  appeared  to  be  empty,  whereas  it  was  truly  steeped  to  the 
brim  in  serene  emotions  and  lofty,  redeeming  thoughts,  where- 
by, though  the  eye  saw  nothing,  that  life  was  yet  rendered 
happy  among  all.  For  we  are  well  aware  that  what  destiny 
has  given  and  what  destiny  holds  in  reserve  can  be  revolu- 
tionized as  utterly  by  thought  as  by  great  victory  or  great  defeat. 
Thought  is  silent :  it  disturbs  not  a  pebble  on  the  illusory  road 
we  see;  but  at  the  crossway  of  the  more  actual  road  that  our 
secret  hf e  follows  will  it  tranquilly  erect  an  indestructible  pyra- 
mid; and  thereupon,  suddenly,  every  event,  to  the  very  phenom- 
ena of  Earth  and  Heaven,  will  assume  a  new  direction. 

In  Siegfried's  Hfe  it  is  not  the  moment  when  he  forges  the 
prodigious  sword  that  he  is  most  important,  or  w^hen  he  kills 
the  dragon  and  compels  the  gods  from  his  path,  or  even  the 
dazzling  second  when  he  encounters  love  on  the  flaming  moun- 
tain ;  but  indeed  the  brief  instant  wrested  from  eternal  decrees, 
the  Httle  childish  gesture  when  one  of  his  hands,  red  with  the 
blood  of  his  mysterious  victim,  having  chanced  to  draw  near 
his  Hps,  his  eyes  and  ears  are  suddenly  opened :  he  understands 
the  hidden  language  of  all  that  surrounds  him,  detects  the 
treachery  of  the  dwarf  who  represents  the  powers  of  evil,  and 
learns  in  a  flash  to  do  that  which  had  to  be  done. 


XIV  [  12  ] 


XV 


ART 

"THE    WHAT   AND  THE   HOW  IN   ART"^ 

BY 

WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS 


T  F  art  might  he  dismissed  as  a  mere  means  oj  amusement,  a 
■^  source  oj  relaxation  to  be  the  sport  oj  leisure  hours,  it 
would  have  no  place  in  our  discussion  here.  But  art,  as  the 
great  artists  have  understood  it,  as  the  world  is  beginning  to 
understand  it,  is  not  a  pleasant  playing  with  colors  or  with 
sounds  or  words;  it  is  an  effort  to  give  the  highest,  truest  ex- 
pression to  whatever  is  pure  and  jair  within  us.  Looked  at  in 
this  light,  art  becomes  assuredly  one  oj  the  important  aspects 
oj  lije.  The  one  all-important  aspect,  it  has  seemed  to  some 
geniuses,  a  Beethoven,  or  a  Michelangelo!  And  though  most 
oj  us  may  rejuse  to  go  so  jar  in  our  artistic  devotion,  yet  it  is 
evident  that  in  seeking  to  understand  modern  lije  we  must  pause 
jor  a  moment  to  examine  into  the  meaning  oj  art,  its  aims  and 
hopes,  and  its  relationship  to  lije  in  general.  It  is  this  study 
which  is  here  essayed  by  Mr.  Howells,  William  Dean  Howells, 
who  has  been  aptly  termed  the  dean  oj  American  letters,  whose 
novels  and  whose  critical  works  have  won  him  the  respect  and 
admiration  oj  all  readers.  The  jollowing  essay,  previously  pub- 
lished by  Messrs.  Harper  df  Brothers  in  their  volume  "Litera- 
ture and  Lije,''^  is  here  reproduced  by  consent  oj  the  publishers 
and  with  the  special  permission  oj  Mr.  Howells.  It  is  accom- 
panied by  an  address  jrom  M.  de  Maulde,  the  well-known  French 
critic,  in  which  he  discusses  the  use  oj  art  in  daily  and  especially 
in  jeminine  lije,  the  aims  and  means  oj  art  and  woman  being 
made  clear  as  a  Frenchman  sees  them. 

1  Copyright  1902  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 
XV  [  I  ] 


ART 

One  of  the  things  always  enforcing  itself  upon  the 
consciousness  of  the  artist  in  any  sort  is  the  fact  that 
those  whom  artists  work  for  rarely  care  for  their  work 
artistically.  They  care  for  it  morally,  personally,  partially. 
I  suspect  that  criticism  itself  has  rather  a  muddled  preference 
for  the  what  over  the  how,  and  that  it  is  always  haunted  by  a 
philistine  question  of  the  material  when  it  should,  aesthetically 
speaking,  be  concerned  solely  with  the  form. 


The  other  night  at  the  theatre  I  was  witness  of  a  curious  and 
amusing  illustration  of  my  point.  They  were  playing  a  most 
soul-filling  melodrama,  of  the  sort  which  gives  you  assurance 
from  the  very  first  that  there  will  be  no  trouble  in  the  end,  but 
everything  will  come  out  just  as  it  should,  no  matter  what 
obstacles  oppose  themselves  in  the  course  of  the  action.  An 
overruling  Providence,  long  accustomed  to  the  exigencies  of 
the  stage,  could  not  fail  to  intervene  at  the  critical  moment 
in  behalf  of  innocence  and  virtue,  and  the  spectator  never 
had  the  least  occasion  for  anxiety.  Not  unnaturally  there  was 
a  black-hearted  villain  in  the  piece ;  so  very  black-hearted  that 
he  seemed  not  to  have  a  single  good  impulse  from  first  to  last. 
Yet  he  was,  in  the  keeping  of  the  stage  Providence,  as  harmless 
as  a  blank  cartridge,  in  spite  of  his  deadly  aims.  He  accom- 
plished no  more  mischief,  in  fact,  than  if  all  his  intents  had  been 
of  the  best ;  except  for  the  satisfaction  afforded  by  the  edifying 
spectacle  of  his  defeat  and  shame,  he  need  not  have  been  in 
the  play  at  all;  and  one  might  almost  have  felt  sorry  for  him, 
he  was  so  continually  baffled.  But  this  was  not  enough  for  the 
audience,  or  for  that  part  of  it  which  filled  the  gallery  to  the 
roof.  Perhaps  he  was  such  an  uncommonly  black-hearted  vil- 
lain, so  very,  very  cold-blooded  in  his  wickedness  that  the  justice 
unsparingly  dealt  out  to  him  by  the  dramatist  could  not  suffice. 
At  any  rate,  the  gallery  took  such  a  vivid  interest  in  his  punish- 
ment that  it  had  out  the  actor  who  impersonated  the  wretch 
between  all  the  acts,  and  hissed  him  throughout  his  deliberate 
passage  across  the  stage  before  the  curtain.  The  hisses  were 
XV  [2] 


ART 

not  at  all  for  the  actor,  but  altogether  for  the  character.  The 
performance  was  fairly  good,  quite  as  good  as  the  performance 
of  any  virtuous  part  in  the  piece,  and  easily  up  to  the  level  of 
other  villanous  performances  (I  never  find  much  nature  in  them, 
perhaps  because  there  is  not  much  nature  in  villany  itself; 
that  is,  villany  pure  and  simple);  but  the  mere  conception  of 
the  wickedness  this  bad  man  had  attempted  was  too  much 
for  an  audience  of  the  average  popular  goodness.  It  was  only 
after  he  had  taken  poison,  and  fallen  dead  before  their 
eyes,  that  the  spectators  forbore  to  visit  him  with  a  lively  proof 
of  their  abhorrence;  apparently  they  did  not  care  to  "give 
him  a  realizing  sense  that  there  w^as  a  punishment  after  death, " 
as  the  man  in  Lincoln's  story  did  with  the  dead  dog. 

II 

The  whole  affair  was  very  amusing  at  first,  but  it  has  since 
put  me  upon  thinking  (I  like  to  be  put  upon  thinking;  the 
eighteenth-century  essayists  were)  that  the  attitude  of  the  audi- 
ence towards  this  deplorable  reprobate  is  really  the  attitude 
of  most  readers  of  books,  lookers  at  pictures  and  statues, 
listeners  to  music,  and  so  on  through  the  whole  list  of  the  arts. 
It  is  absolutely  different  from  the  artist's  attitude,  from  the 
connoisseur's  attitude;  it  is  quite  irreconcilable  with  their 
attitude,  and  yet  I  wonder  if  in  the  end  it  is  not  what  the  artist 
works  for.  Art  is  not  produced  for  artists,  or  even  for  con- 
noisseurs; it  is  produced  for  the  general,  who  can  never  view 
it  otherwise  than  morally,  personally,  partially,  from  their 
associations  and  preconceptions. 

Whether  the  effect  with  the  general  is  what  the  artist  works 
for  or  not,  he  does  not  succeed  without  it.  Their  brute  liking 
or  misliking  is  the  final  test;  it  is  universal  suffrage  that  elects, 
after  all.  Only,  in  some  cases  of  this  sort,  the  polls  do  not 
close  at  four  o'clock  on  the  first  Tuesday  after  the  first  Monday 
of  November,  but  remain  open  forever,  and  the  voting  goes 
on.  Still,  even  the  first  day's  canvass  is  important,  or  at  least 
significant.  It  will  not  do  for  the  artist  to  electioneer,  but  if  he 
is  beaten  he  ought  to  ponder  the  causes  of  his  defeat,  and 
XV  [  3  ] 


ART 

question  how  he  has  failed  to  touch  the  chord  of  universal  in- 
terest. He  is  in  the  world  to  make  beauty  and  truth  evident  to 
his  fellow -men,  who  are  as  a  rule  incredibly  stupid  and  ignorant 
of  both,  but  whose  judgment  he  must  nevertheless  not  despise. 
If  he  can  make  something  that  they  will  cheer,  or  something 
that  they  will  hiss,  he  may  not  have  done  any  great  thing, 
but  if  he  has  made  something  that  they  will  neither  cheer  nor 
hiss,  he  may  well  have  his  misgivings,  no  matter  how  well, 
how  finely,  how  truly  he  has  done  the  thing. 

This  is  very  humiliating,  but  a  tacit  snub  to  one's  artist-pride 
such  as  one  gets  from  public  silence  is  not  a  bad  thing  for  one. 
Not  long  ago  I  was  talking  about  pictures  with  a  painter,  a  very 
great  painter,  to  my  thinking;  one  whose  pieces  give  me  the 
same  feeling  I  have  from  reading  poetry;  and  I  was  excusing 
myself  to  him  with  respect  to  art,  and  perhaps  putting  on  a  little 
more  modesty  than  I  felt.  I  said  that  I  could  enjoy  pictures 
only  on  the  literary  side,  and  could  get  no  answer  from 
my  soul  to  those  excellences  of  handling  and  execution  which 
seemed  chiefly  to  interest  painters.  He  replied  that  it  was  a 
confession  of  weakness  in  a  painter  if  he  appealed  merely  or 
mainly  to  technical  knowledge  in  the  spectator;  that  he  nar- 
rowed his  field  and  dwarfed  his  work  by  it;  and  that  if  he  painted 
for  painters  merely,  or  for  the  connoisseurs  of  painting,  he 
was  denying  his  office,  which  was  to  say  something  clear  and 
appreciable  to  all  sorts  of  men  in  the  terms  of  art.  He  even 
Insisted  that  a  picture  ought  to  tell  a  story. 

The  difficulty  in  humbling  one's  self  to  this  view  of  art 
is  in  the  ease  with  which  one  may  please  the  general  by  art 
which  is  no  art.  Neither  the  play  nor  the  playing  that  I  saw 
at  the  theatre  when  the  actor  was  hissed  for  the  wickedness 
of  the  villain  he  was  personating  was  at  all  fine;  and  yet  I 
perceived,  on  reflection,  that  they  had  achieved  a  supreme 
effect.  If  I  may  be  so  confidential,  I  will  say  that  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  have  written  that  piece;  yet  I  should  be  very 
proud  if,  on  the  level  I  chose  and  with  the  quality  I  cared  for, 
I  could  invent  a  villain  that  the  populace  would  have  out  and 
hiss  for  his  surpassing  wickedness.  In  other  words,  I  think 
it  a  thousand  pities  whenever  an  artist  gets  so  far  away  from  the 
XV  [4] 


ART 

general,  so  far  within  himself  or  a  little  circle  of  amateurs, 
that  his  highest  and  best  work  awakens  no  response  in  the 
multitude.  I  am  afraid  this  is  rather  the  danger  of  the  arts 
among  us,  and  how  to  escape  it  is  not  so  very  plain.  It  makes 
one  sick  and  sorry  often  to  see  how  cheaply  the  applause  of  the 
common  people  is  won.  It  is  not  an  infallible  test  of  merit, 
but  if  it  is  wanting  to  any  performance,  we  may  be  pretty  sure 
it  is  not  the  greatest  performance. 

Ill 

The  paradox  lies  in  wait  here,  as  in  most  other  human 
affairs,  to  confound  us,  and  we  try  to  baffle  it,  in  this  way  and  in 
that.  We  talk,  for  instance,  of  poetry  for  poets,  and  we  fondly 
imagine  that  this  is  different  from  talking  of  cookery  for  cooks. 
Poetry  is  not  made  for  poets;  they  have  enough  poetry  of  their 
own,  but  it  is  made  for  people  who  are  not  poets.  If  it 
does  not  please  these,  it  may  still  be  poetry,  but  it  is  poetry 
which  has  failed  of  its  truest  office.  It  is  none  the  less  its 
truest  office  because  some  very  wretched  verse  seems  often  to 
do  it. 

The  logic  of  such  a  fact  is  not  that  the  poet  should  try  to 
achieve  this  truest  office  of  his  art  by  means  of  doggerel,  but 
that  he  should  study  how  and  where  and  why  the  beauty  and 
the  truth  he  has  made  manifest  are  wanting  in  universal  interest, 
in  human  appeal.  Leaving  the  drama  out  of  the  question, 
and  the  theatre,  which  seems  now  to  be  seeking  only  the  favor 
of  the  dull  rich,  I  beHeve  that  there  never  was  a  time  or  a  race 
more  open  to  the  impressions  of  beauty  and  of  truth  than 
ours.  The  artist  who  feels  their  divine  charm,  and  longs  to 
impart  it,  has  now  and  here  a  chance  to  impart  it  more  widely 
than  ever  artist  had  in  the  world  before.  Of  course,  the  means 
of  reaching  the  widest  range  of  humanity  are  the  simple  and 
the  elementary,  but  there  is  no  telling  when  the  complex  and 
the  recondite  may  not  universally  please.  The  art  is  to 
make  them  plain  to  every  one,  for  every  one  has  them  in  him. 
Lowell  used  to  say  that  Shakespeare  was  subtle,  but  in  letters 
a  foot  high. 

XV  [  5  ] 


ART 

The  painter,  sculptor,  or  author  who  pleases  the  polite 
only  has  a  success  to  be  proud  of  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  to  be 
ashamed  of  that  it  goes  no  further.  He  need  not  shrink  from 
giving  pleasure  to  the  vulgar  because  bad  art  pleases  them. 
It  is  part  of  his  reason  for  being  that  he  should  please  them, 
too;  and  if  he  does  not  it  is  a  proof  that  he  is  wanting  in  force, 
however  much  he  abounds  in  fineness.  Who  would  not  wish 
his  picture  to  draw  a  crowd  about  it?  Who  would  not  wish 
his  novel  to  sell  five  hundred  thousand  copies,  for  reasons 
besides  the  sordid  love  of  gain  which  I  am  told  governs  novel- 
ists? One  should  not  really  wish  it  any  the  less  because 
chromos  and  historical  romances  are  popular. 

Sometime,  I  believe,  the  artist  and  his  public  will  draw 
nearer  together  in  a  mutual  understanding,  though  perhaps 
not  in  our  present  conditions.  I  put  that  understanding 
off  till  the  good  time  when  life  shall  be  more  than  living, 
more  even  than  the  question  of  getting  a  living;  but  in  the  mean 
time  I  think  that  the  artist  might  very  well  study  the  springs 
of  feeling  in  others ;  and  if  I  were  a  dramatist  I  think  I  should 
quite  humbly  go  to  that  play  where  they  hiss  the  villain  for 
his  villany,  and  inquire  how  his  wickedness  had  been  made 
so  appreciable,  so  vital,  so  personal.  Not  being  a  dramatist, 
I  still  cannot  indulge  the  greatest  contempt  of  that  play  and  its 
public.  • 


ART  IN  DAILY  LIFE 

BY 

R.  DE  MAULDE 

Many  people  think  that  life  cannot  be  filled  better  than  by 
whirl  and  excitement.  Tell  me  frankly,  does  this  lend  charm 
to  life?  Life  is  what  it  is;  why  should  we  kill  ourselves  in 
painting  its  stucco?  It  would  often  be  doing  us  a  service 
were  some  one  to  show  us  the  ridiculous  side  of  a  crowd  of 
obligations  and  ambitions  in  which  we  consume  ourselves, 
vainly.  To  do  this  thing  or  that  because  "ever}^body  does  it," 
XY  [6] 


ART 

to  know  everybody,  to  take  the  present  time  by  the  forelock, 
to  think  ever^'body's  thoughts,  to  see  what  every  one  sees,  to 
eat  the  fashionable  kickshaws  and  suffer  from  the  fashionable 
complaint,  to  reel  under  the  prodigious  exertion  of  doing 
nothing — truly  a  fine  object  in  life,  this:  the  life  of  a  circus 
horse  or  a  squirrel.  The  world  will  regard  us  with  admiration 
maybe;  but  the  physician  before  whom  we  presently  collapse 
after  our  surfeit  will  treat  us  as  degenerates. 

He  will  tell  us  to  quit  Paris  and  fly  to  the  sea  or  the  moun- 
tains. Stuff!  'tis  not  the  air  of  Paris  that  is  unwholesome; 
what  is  unwholesome  is  its  moral  atmosphere.  Still,  I  do 
find  it  a  little  hard  to  understand  how  a  Parisian,  constantly 
beset  by  risks  so  various,  can  reach  manhood  limb-whole^ 
unmaimed.     To  be  alive — that  is  the  marvel. 

And  many  persons,  amid  these  futile  activities,  pass  life 
by  after  all  without  touching  it.  Who  they  were  is  never  known ; 
you  see  only  their  gestures.  In  sooth,  there  must  be  many 
serious  people  among  the  clowns  at  the  fair,  judging  by  the 
number  of  clowns  and  fribbles  among  serious  people. 

Not  a  few  of  the  grave  men  I  happen  to  meet,  lawyers, 
bankers,  men  of  business,  are  not  really  men  at  all;  they  are 
merely  lavryers,  bankers,  men  of  business.     Is  this  happiness! 

Mr.  Rockefeller,  the  petroleum  king,  has  fallen  into  a  melan- 
choly. Like  Charles  V.,  he  desires  to  abdicate;  but  this 
dream  is  still  to  him  a  fresh  source  of  trouble  and  sorrow,  for 
he  seeks  a  mortal  of  fit  mould  and  temper  to  wield  the  sceptre 
in  his  stead,  and,  though  he  scours  two  hemispheres,  this 
mortal  is  nowhere  discoverable. 

Will  it  astonish  you,  Madam,  if  I  avouch  that  this  rage 
of  unrest  has  set  its  mark  upon  some  of  your  sex?  Would 
not  you  yourself  think  it  a  slight  on  your  reputation  if  you 
were  even  suspected  of  being  a  stay-at-home  ?  Conversation — 
writing, — what  outworn,  antiquated  things!  You  fling  out 
your  words,  your  notes,  in  the  style  of  a  tradesman's  list  or 
a  telegram;  you  are  seen  in  the  paddock  or  the  polo-field,  on 
charitable  committees,  in  presidential  chairs;  since  man  is 
master,  you  think  you  are  winning  a  place  among  the  engulf- 
ing sex  by  adopting  mannish  modes  wholesale. 
XV  [7] 


ART 

The  most  charming  of  women  will  cut,  at  least,  but  a  poor 
figure  as  a  man ;  and  I  cannot,  in  truth,  see  what  there  is  in 
the  spectacle  of  the  masculine  hurly-burly  to  attract  women 
who  might  well  live  in  quietness.  To  be  endlessly  getting 
and  spending,  to  turn  all  things  to  laughter  and  take  nothing 
seriously,  to  be  altogether  insensible — oh,  a  fine  philosophy! 
With  all  his  wealth  and  titles  and  decorations,  many  a  man 
comes  to  crawling  on  all-fours,  and  even  finds  exceeding  com- 
fort in  his  proneness,  like  the  good  soul  who,  being  changed  into 
a  swine  by  the  enchantress  Circe,  refused  point-blank  to  resume 
his  former  features.  But  all  our  restless  strivings  represent 
in  reality  nothing  but  a  varnish  of  egotism,  wherefore  we  cannot 
desire  a  woman  to  take  pleasure  in  them.  Moreover,  she 
would  have  to  force  her  nature  to  attain  an  egotism  so  perfect. 
Such  egotism  is  very  rare  among  you,  ladies;  and  often,  after 
the  loss  of  those  you  love  has  driven  you  within  your  last 
entrenchments,  it  happens  that  Death  comes,  rather  than 
Forgetfulness. 

Shall  we  at  least  find  joy  in  the  happiness  of  doing  nothing? 

I  recognize  that,  for  some  women,  there  is  a  measure  of 
practical  wisdom  in  remaining  idle.  Unaccustomed  to  any- 
thing that  can  be  called  work,  constrained  often  to  periods 
of  enforced  idleness,  they  prefer  to  avoid  all  serious  under- 
takings, last  their  activity  prove  mere  bungling. 

This  attitude  of  mind  is  familiar  also  to  many  men,  if  they 
have  an  income  however  small,  or  merely  the  hope  of  espousing 
one.  They  tell  themselves  that  work  brings  worry,  breeds 
jealousy  and  envy:  ignorance  has  its  art — the  art  of  shining 
inexpensively;  and  all  you  have  to  do  for  the  decoration  you 
covet  is  to  unveil  a  statue  in  honor  of  some  philosopher  con- 
neviently  deceased.  Meanwhile,  it  is  so  pleasant  a  sensation, 
so  conducive  to  the  peace  and  order  of  your  country,  to 
smoke  your  cigar  without  one  thought,  one  desire,  one 
aspiration ! 

So  pleasant !     But  stay,  my  dear  sir,  let  me  deal  fairly  with 

you:  you  are  always  doing  something,  even  though  it  be  only 

smoking,    hunting,    reading    the    newspaper,    emitting    your 

political  views,   riding,   eating,   digesting.     Only,  these  occu- 

XV  [  8  ] 


ART 

pations  are  useless  to  your  neighbors.  It  is  very  lucky,  you 
will  admit,  that  all  men  do  not  profess  the  same  principles 
of  ideal  parasitism,  for  then  who  would  give  you  to  eat? 

If  we  could  but  hug  the  assurance  that  wretchedness  be- 
longs of  right  to  the  poor,  and  glory  to  the  rich,  we  might  be- 
seech the  poor  to  batten  on  the  odors  exhaled  from  your  kitchens. 
But  no;  uselessness  seeks  to  foist  itself  as  a  mark  of  distinction; 
and  vanity,  often  more  ravenous  than  hunger,  excites  violent 
social  strictures,  especially  among  workmen  of  some  intelli- 
gence, and  sufficiently  well  off  already  to  have  an  inkling 
of  what  luxury  means. 

Unhappily,  our  progress  in  material  things  serves  only  to 
develop  this  sense  of  luxury,  by  establishing  on  all  sides  con- 
tacts purely  material.  Money,  and  money  alone,  classifies 
the  passengers  on  the  railway;  we  all  become  mere  parcels, 
some  in  wadding,  others  not.  We  are  estimated  by  the  weight 
of  our  money,  though  that  is  commonly  a  cause  of  moral  feeble- 
ness, or  at  least  of  torpor.  Will  social  happiness,  any  more 
than  personal  happiness,  be  found  in  this  glorification  of  ma- 
terial indolence  and  the  aristocracy  of  pleasure  ?  It  seems  not, 
judging  by  the  jealousy  that  devours  our  whole  society,  from 
top  to  bottom.  There  is  endless  talk  of  solidarity,  fraternity; 
that  is  the  court  dress  of  the  present  day,  as  were  formerly  wigs 
and  knee-breeches.  But  never  was  egotism  so  intolerant; 
never,  consequently,  was  the  tedium  of  life  so  grievous. 

Men  mightily  deceive  themselves  by  indulging  all  their 
life  long  the  dream  of  an  easy  time — retirement  from  business, 
quiet  days  of  fishing,  and  so  on;  seeking  a  path  to  this  happi- 
ness by  way  of  a  life  of  inelastic  limitations.  Our  life  is  either 
whirl  or  stagnation.  To  the  women  who  do  nothing,  as  well 
as  to  all  these  mechanical  gentlemen,  to  those  who  are  enam- 
oured of  the  world,  and  to  persons  flourishing  and  waxing  fat, 
may  I  present  the  woman  of  my  dreams?  She  has  formed 
the  habit  of  living  so  actively  on  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  others, 
she  has  sustained,  encouraged,  helped  others  so  often,  shared 
so  many  fears  and  hopes,  seen  so  much  of  birth  and  death, 
lived  so  full  of  life,  that  beneath  her  blanching  hair  her  heart 
finds  it  impossible  to  retire  from  the  service.  It  grows  and 
XV  [9] 


grows.     Her  activity,  always  fruitful,  brings  forth  ever  more 
and  more.     A  clear  proof  that  there  must  be  a  special  secret. 

II 

Art  has  for  its  aim  perfection,  the  augmentation  of  our  sen- 
sibility to  physical  objects.  Contact  with  the  True  and  the  Use- 
ful being  often  void  of  charm,  whether  because  the  Beautiful 
passes  "  out  of  range,"  as  hunters  say,  or  because  the  ugly  presses 
upon  us  somewhat  too  closely,  art  consists  in  creating  for 
one's  self  a  nest,  a  little  sanctuary,  an  environment  that  one  can 
love,  and  in  presenting  to  us  by  their  softer  sides  the  things 
with  which  contact  is  inevitable. 

Therefore  a  woman's  art  consists  in  drawing  from  the  most 
modest  occupations  a  ray  of  beauty  and  of  love ;  and  the  surest 
means  of  discovering  such  in  those  is  to  put  it  there. 

A  gross  error  of  our  time  is  an  aesthetic  error.  The  belief 
is  current  that  there  are  things  which  are  necessarily  artistic, 
which  make  you  an  artist  from  head  to  heel  as  soon  as  you 
touch  them,  and  other  things  which  can  never  be  artistic.  People 
rush  to  the  first,  and  eschew  the  others.  They  fancy  themselves 
to  be  artists  by  the  mere  fact  of  their  handling  a  chisel  or  a 
brush  instead  of  a  plough;  a  governess,  be  she  ever  such  a 
goose,  thinks  herself  a  superior  person.  In  reality  there  are 
some  things  to  which  art  is  applied,  and  other  things  to  which 
it  is  not  applied.  The  art  of  life  consists  in  living  steadily, 
without  perturbations,  in  doing  honestly  that  for  which  we 
were  born,  and  in  doing  it  with  love. 

I  cannot  forget,  for  example,  the  singular  impression  pro- 
duced upon  me,  in  a  corner  of  the  old  hospital  of  Bruges, 
where  Memlinc  worked,  by  a  group  of  Beguines  scraping  car- 
rots, and  murmuring  their  prayers  the  while.  I  was  leaving 
the  place  with  a  band  of  tourists,  my  eyes  filled  with  beauty, 
my  heart  haunted  by  the  exquisite  visions  of  Memlinc;  these 
placid  women,  not  one  of  whom  raised  her  head  at  so  com- 
monplace an  event  as  a  stranger  passing,  wholly  absorbed, 
as  they  were,  in  blending  the  love  of  God  with  the  fulfilment 
of  His  laws,  well  reflected  the  sentiment  of  the  painter,  the 

XV  [  I  o  ] 


ART 

living  ray  of  grace.  I  seemed  to  see  around  them  a  glamour 
of  art. 

Take  a  woman  who,  from  an  entirely  different  point  of  view, 
showed  the  same  instinct  for  finding  loveliness  in  common 
things — the  celebrated  Madame  Roland. 

"The  drying  of  her  grapes  and  plums,  the  garnering  of  her 
nuts  and  apples,  the  due  preparation  of  her  dried  pears,  her 
broods  of  hens,  her  litters  of  rabbits,  her  frothing  lye,  the 
mending  of  her  linen,  the  ranging  of  her  napery  in  its  lofty 
presses — all  these  were  objects  of  her  personal,  unstinted, 
unremitting  care,  and  gave  her  pleasure.  She  was  present  at 
the  village  merrymakings  and  took  her  place  among  the  dancers 
on  the  green.  The  country  people  from  miles  around  sought 
her  aid  for  sick  friends  whom  the  doctors  had  given  up.  She 
ranged  the  fields  on  foot  and  horseback  to  collect  simples, 
to  enrich  her  herbarium,  to  complete  her  collections,  and  would 
pause  in  delight  before  tufts  of  violets  bordering  the  hedgerows 
bursting  with  the  first  buds  of  spring,  or  before  the  ruddy 
vine-clusters  tremulous  in  the  autumn  breeze;  for  her,  every- 
thing in  meadow  and  wood  had  voices,  everything  a  smile."  ^ 

When  a  woman  has  armed  herself  with  this  special  force 
of  beauty,  she  has  done  much.  It  only  remains  for  her  to  nour- 
ish and  propagate  it ;  her  life  is  a  permanent  work  of  art ;  around 
her  an  atmosphere  is  naturally  created  in  which  all  things 
solicit  and  give  play  to  our  noblest  sentiments.  Ah!  this  art 
is  no  chimera,  no  vain  or  useless  thing ;  it  is  the  very  nursery  of 
life.  Even  in  a  cottage  it  smiles  upon  the  wayfarer,  offering 
flowers  to  his  view,  teaching  him  the  graciousness  and  the 
necessity  of  joy.  M.  Guyau  defines  the  artist  as  "he  who, 
simple  even  in  his  profound  accomplishment,  preserves  in  the 
gaze  of  the  world  a  certain  freshness  of  heart,  and  (so  to  say) 
a  perpetual  novelty  of  sensation."  That  is  the  impression 
that  a  woman  should  produce  around  her,  and  no  tremendous 
exertion  is  needed,  since  the  first  rule  is  frankness  and  sim- 
plicity. Luxury  tends  to  be  hurtful.  It  is  useless  to  go  far 
afield,  to  ferret  out  recondite  styles,  to  complicate,  to  love 
the  affected,  the  rare,  the  eccentric,  the  languid.     Let  the  house 

iQ.  Gr^ard. 
XV  [  II  ] 


ART 

be  a  living  and  well-ordered  place,  where  the  accessory  does 
not  take  precedence  of  the  essential,  where  every  object  has 
its  own  place  and  its  specific  character.  Breathe  into  all  things 
a  sentiment  of  unity,  and  also,  as  far  as  possible,  of  spaciousness 
and  comfort. 

In  the  country,  respect  the  ancient  dwelling,  even  though 
a  little  dilapidated — the  old  walls,  the  old  furniture,  the  old 
avenue,  the  old  church.  Try  to  feel  in  presence  of  a  living 
personality.  A  house  is  a  book  in  stone,  and,  if  you  will,  you 
may  give  to  everything  a  soul,  even  to  stones.  Allow  your  own 
life  freely  to  enter  and  pervade  this  ancient  home.  Irregular- 
ities in  structure,  recent  additions,  are  all  cries  of  existence. 
Something  of  your  own  soul  thus  cleaves  to  all  these  walls. 
Is  it  not  true  that  the  architect  of  a  building,  the  painter  of 
a  fresco,  the  carver  of  an  arabesque,  have  left  upon  their  work 
some  fragments  of  their  souls?  Their  thoughts  hover  about 
the  walls.  The  voice  of  a  singer  causes  the  composer's  soul 
to  live  again  in  us ;  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  speak  to  us,  serve 
us  as  mentors.  I  also,  in  these  pages,  shall  leave  some  frag- 
ments of  my  soul,  with  the  hope  that  in  the  shadow  of  my 
thought  some  one  perchance  may  pray  and  love. 

Ill 

Rich  or  poor,  do  not  crowd  your  walls ;  set  on  them  merely 
a  Hving  and  friendly  note,  something  that  is  a  final  revelation 
of  yourself,  an  element  of  Hfe — a  pretty  water-color,  a  fine 
engraving.  Is  not  this  a  thousand  times  better  than  a  vulgar 
ghtter,  or  even  than  tapestries?  It  is  you,  your  thought, 
that  you  must  stamp  on  these  walls!  Thereby  you  extend 
and  fortify  your  personal  action.  What  recks  it  me  whether 
I  find  this  or  that  object  in  your  drawing-room  ?  Am  I  stepping 
into  a  photographer's  studio,  or  into  a  museum?  It  is  you 
that  I  want  to  see.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  think  it. 
very  delightful  to  see  above  your  head  your  own  portrait, 
the  portraits  of  your  husband  and  children.  The  end  of  por- 
traiture is  to  replace  the  absent;  besides,  the  painter  or  engraver 
strikes  me  too  forcibly  as  interposing  between  you  and  me, 
XV  [  12  ] 


ART 

and  as  indicating  almost  brutally  how  I  am  to  understand 
you.  What  would  happen,  I  wonder,  if  I  should  admire  the 
imitation  more  than  the  original? 

I  would  rather  divine  you,  come  to  know  you,  in  my  own 
fashion,  as  the  secret  unity  among  your  belongings  grows  upon 
me.  If  the  visitor  on  entering  perceives  no  discordant  element; 
if  his  eye,  wandering  presently  towards  the  chimney-piece  or 
some  other  salient  point,  rests  on  a  beautiful  head  enhaloed, 
as  it  were,  with  Christian  sentiment  and  ideals,  or  on  a  beautiful 
Greek  statue,  calm,  dignified,  in  no  wise  labored  or  strained, 
natural  in  pose  and  expression ;  at  once  he  is  at  ease,  his  con- 
fidence is  already  won. 

Presently  his  glance  will  range  afield ;  he  will  perceive  some 
fine  early  Italian  master,  adorable  in  its  artlessness,  crowded 
with  ardent  ideas,  and  fragrant  with  noble  aspirations;  or 
if  you  are  touched  with  the  unrest  of  life,  if  needs  you  must 
plumb  the  mysterious  and  the  unknown,  you  will  have  made 
room  for  some  Vincian  vision;  or  maybe  for  the  clever  and 
superficial  gayeties  of  the  French  school,  or  the  admirable 
warmth  and  freedom  of  some  of  our  landscape  painters. 

Many  people  indulge  a  taste  for  small  canvases,  because 
these  will  hang  anywhere,  go  with  anything,  form  part  of  the 
furniture,  and  suggest  no  manner  of  problem — cowsheds  to 
wit,  scoured  miraculously  clean,  interiors  all  spick  and  span, 
kettles  athrob,  alive;  or  watery  meadow-lands,  with  gray  trees 
and  gray  water,  and  clouds  fretted,  or  far  stretched-out,  or 
close-packed,  or  flocculent.  These  do  not  tire  the  brain,  they 
offend  no  one,  except  that,  from  the  house-decorator's  point 
of  view,  they  are  often  of  too  superior  a  workmanship. 

Rembrandt  is  the  divinity  of  shade,  the  antipodes  of  the 
Italian  expansiveness.  In  an  impenetrable  cloud  he  dints  a 
spot  of  gold,  which  proves  to  be  a  drunkard,  a  beggar,  a  melan- 
choly wight,  a  rotund  Boniface,  a  needy  soul,  or  a  Jew  from 
Amsterdam  or  Batignolles;  or  possibly  himself. 

There  are  also  the  Gargantuesque  old  Flemish  masters, 
with  their  phenomenal  processions,  their  banquets  open  to 
the  world,  bubbling  over  with  gaycty  and  life. 

It  seems  to  me  that  in  matters  of  art  one  should  say  Raca  I 
^^v  [  13  ] 


ART 

to  nothing;  every  aesthetic  impression  has  some  use.  And 
I  really  do  not  see  the  utility  of  a  dispute  like  that  which  has 
been  wrangled  over  for  ages,  about  the  relative  importance 
of  form  and  substance.  Certainly  there  are  features  that  are 
accidental,  and  others  that  are  essential;  you  will  choose 
according  to  your  taste.  The  arts  of  design  have  no  title  to  gov- 
ern your  soul;  it  is  your  part  to  govern  and  make  use  of  them. 
Do  you  prefer  to  invoke  an  image,  or  a  thought  ?  Do  you  wish 
to  surround  yourself  with  the  brutalities  of  so-called  Truth, 
or  with  suggestions,  forms  which  efface  themselves  in  the 
interests  of  impressions  or  ideas  ?  Do  you  love  beauty  of  form, 
exact  outlines,  well-defined  contours,  or  a  broad  effect,  a  surface 
whose  lines  are  lost  in  the  ambient  shade?  These  are  ques- 
tions for  yourself  to  answer.  Good  tools  are  those  which  suit 
you  best.  It  is  not  the  mission  of  painter  or  sculptor  to  re- 
produce a  scene  with  mathematical  precision;  a  photographer 
would  do  this  better;  the  artist's  part  is  to  be  of  service  to  you, 
to  furnish  you  with  the  elements  of  the  art  of  life.  Indeed, 
it  is  the  distinguishing  mark  of  the  artist  that  he  singles  out 
and  segregates,  in  a  crowd,  in  a  landscape,  the  one  choice  ob- 
ject; upon  this  he  fastens,  he  is  ahve  to  all  its  manifold  nuances, 
and  the  charm  is  so  great  that  around  this  object  he  sees  nought 
but  gloom. 

The  aesthetic  object  does  you  the  delightful  service  of 
supplementing  your  own  visions,  and  of  compassing  you  about 
with  ideas.  You  do  not  inquire  what  it  is,  but  what  it  expresses ; 
the  cleverest  of  still-life  pictures,  like  those  to  be  Seen  in  Italian 
houses,  w^ould  give  you  but  a  very  superficial  pleasure.  You 
need  support,  not  illusions;  this  marble,  as  no  one  knows 
better  than  yourself,  is  marble;  but  it  speaks  to  you. 

Only,  the  message  of  art  needs  to  be  properly  directed.  To 
catch  its  accents,  or  to  make  them  heard,  one  must  impart 
to  it  something  of  one's  own.  How  wonderfully  the  meaning 
of  things,  even  their  most  precise  intellectual  meaning,  varies 
for  us,  day  by  day,  through  distraction  or  a  change  of  mood! 
If  our  mind  wanders  when  we  read  a  book,  the  loveliest  thoughts 
glide  over  us  as  though  over  marble.  A  lady  who  had  been 
stirred  to  enthusiasm  by  a  somewhat  mediocre  book  wrote 
XV  [ 14  ] 


ART 

asking  mc  to  recommend  another  v/hich  would  produce  the 
same  effect.  I  told  her  first  to  fill  herself  with  the  same  en- 
thusiasm, and  then  to  take  down  from  her  shelves  any  book 
she  pleased.  One  day,  subdued  to  our  mechanism,  we  pass 
on  like  blind  men;  the  next,  if  our  hearts  are  moved  and  our 
spirits  satisfied,  we  feel  suggestion  to  the  full,  and  go  so  far  as 
to  see,  in  a  phrase  or  a  picture,  ideas  which  the  author  never 
dreamed  of  putting  there. 

Let  us  not,  then,  be  anxious  to  crowd  our  rooms  with  beau- 
tiful things;  far  better  to  display  things  few  in  number,  but 
high  in  worth,  adapted  to  their  surroundings,  and  performing 
in  some  sort  the  office  of  the  conductor  of  an  orchestra. 

To  enforce  this  reflection,  it  is  enough  to  mention  the 
irritating  effect  produced  by  certain  museums.  The  genus 
''collection"— that  is  the  rock  to  shun!  All  these  hapless 
canvases,  torn  from  their  luminous,  hallowed,  intimate,  unique 
places,  are  there  exhibited  high  and  dry  in  philosophic  deso- 
lation, rootless,  forlorn.  At  ten  o'clock  you  have  to  don  the 
freshness,  of  spirit  necessary  to  enjoy  them,  and  doff  it  on  the 
stroke  of  four  or  five,  according  to  the  season.  Instead  of  en- 
tering a  gallery  with  heart  at  rest,  and  seeing  in  the  sanctuary 
the  objects  of  worship,  you  pull  it  to  pieces,  compare  it  with 
the  canons,  and  puzzle  out  a  needless  meaning.  Some  good 
souls  criticise  the  subject,  others  its  treatment  and  technique; 
and  the  keepers  stroll  about  or  doze  in  a  corner.  What  a 
crime  to  despoil  streets  and  palaces  and  churches,  the  very 
tombs,  for  the  sake  of  ranging  such  labels  in  a  row!  This  is 
art  as  officialdom  knows  it. 

In  a  room  of  great  simplicity,  a  single  work,  adapted  to 
its  surroundings,  and  excellently  interpreting  a  woman's 
tastes,  renders  us  a  wholly  different  service.  This  is  no  corpse 
to  anatomize.  You  contemplate  a  thing  that  is  loved,  and 
a  radiance  floods  the  place;  you  forget,  if  only  for  a  moment, 
the  offences  of  life.  And  I  maintain  that  the  poorest  woman 
in  the  world,  if  she  has  confidence  in  beauty,  will  always  be 
able  thus  to  fill  her  home  with  light;  she  can  always  place  in  It 
some  flowers  or  a  photograph. 

XV  [15] 


ART 


IV 


You  may  furnish  your  rooms  in  a  higher  sort  by  adorning 
your  chairs  with  beings  who  speak  and  act.  In  referring  to 
these  familiar  beings  as  furniture  I  mean  no  harm,  but  simply 
imply  that  they  are  no  friends  of  yours,  but  merely  accessories, 
persons  who  sink  their  own  ideas  and  tastes,  Madam,  to  assist 
your  art  with  theirs. 

In  this  category,  musicians  probably  hold  the  first  place. 
Indeed,  music  plays  a  much  higher  role  in  aestheticism  than 
the  manual  arts,  a  role  scarcely  inferior  to  that  of  the  intellectual 
arts.  Like  the  latter,  it  has  (so  to  say)  no  substance,  appealing 
solely  to  the  feelings;  whether  we  will  or  no,  it  rarely  fails  to 
take  possession  of  us,  though  merely  by  tangled  sensations;  it 
catches  us  as  in  a  web,  and  does  with  us  what  it  will;  it  moves 
ds,  lulls  us  to  sleep,  stimulates  us.  It  derives  its  effects  from  the 
relations  of  tone,  whether  with  neighboring  tones  on  the  scale, 
or  with  the  singer  and  the  listener.  A  small  thing  in  itself, 
it  is  yet  of  capital  importance;  all  life,  all  motion  even,  pro- 
duces sound,  from  the  wind  and  the  sea  upwards;  and  re- 
course has  ever  been  had  to  sound  for  the  purpose  of  touching 


men. 


Beggars  and  the  blind  have  always  sung,  as  they  do  to  this 
day;  song  has  ever  been  employed  to  console  the  afflicted,  to 
hearten  soldiers  on  the  march,  even  to  soothe  physical  pain. 

With  very  good  reason,  then,  do  women  regard  music  as 
their  own  pecuHar  sphere.  Thus,  at  the  epoch  of  the  Renais- 
sance, in  the  heyday  of  their  influence,  they  adopted  musical 
attributes  in  their  portraits;  these  were,  so  to  speak,  their 
sceptres. 

Does  it  beseem  a  woman  to  aim  higher,  and  to  seek  to  create 
around  her  a  real  atmosphere  of  philosophy,  history,  science, 
poetry— in  short,  an  inteflectual  atmosphere?  Yes,  and  no. 
If  she  is  so  reliant  on  her  own  wit  and  ascendancy  as  to  make 
all  the  personages  she  gathers  but  garniture  for  her  soul  or  faith- 
ful radiators  of  her  glory,  mere  apostles  of  her  influence,  yes. 
But  no,  if  she  has  any  fear  of  being  absorbed  by  her  surroundings 
and  reduced  to  the  level  of  a  landlady. 
XV  [ i6  ] 


ART 

It  is  often  said  that  salons  are  things  of  the  past,  and  the 
fact  is  lamented;  in  truth  there  are  no  salons  now,  and  there 
never  will  be  again,  because,  what  with  the  ambitions  and  pre- 
tensions of  men,  the  necessities  of  their  careers,  the  obligations 
of  the  struggle  for  life,  the  present  age  knows  little  of  the  delight 
of  allowing  itself  to  be  embodied  or  summed  up  in  a  woman. 
A  drawing-room  very  soon  becomes  a  sort  of  exchange  for 
literary  or  sporting  affairs,  or  the  like.  This  does  not  imply 
that,  for  their  own  purposes,  women  should  neglect  intellectual 
resources;  but  it  will  certainly  be  recognized  that  real  courage 
is  needed  if  they  are  to  rise  superior  to  tittle-tattle,  talk  of 
stocks  or  the  stable,  the  stuff  they  read,  the  things  they  hear. 
Happy  are  the  societies  where  one  can  still  enjoy  life,  and 
think!  Happy  the  man  who,  like  Monsieur  Jourdain,  makes 
prose  without  knowing  it! 

Yet,  without  holding  a  salon,  women  may  still  exercise  in 
intellectual  matters  a  guiding  influence  truly  indispensable. 
Instead  of  allowing  themselves  to  fall  a  prey  to  puffery,  clap- 
trap, or  scandal,  why  should  they  not,  on  the  contrary,  treat 
as  personal  enemies  the  men  who  only  use  their  undoubted 
talents  to  sport  with  them,  to  flaunt  everywhere  their  nudities, 
to  show  off  the  slaves  of  their  pleasure? — why  smile  upon 
scribblers,  geniuses  of  Montmartre  and  the  Latin  Quarter? 
It  is  self-constituted  slavery  to  bow  incessantly  at  the  feet  of 
fashion.  Always  the  fashion!  A  play  is  bad.  Don't  go  to 
see  it,  and  tell  people  so.  A  poem  is  a  medley  of  unintelligible 
catchwords,  a  rigmarole  of  sonorous  nothings;  have  the  courage 
to  say  that  it  defies  comprehension  and  that  your  mind  loves 
lucidity!  We  all  need  our  courage:  this  is  yours.  Nobody 
wants  you  to  shoulder  a  rifle;  you  are  asked  to  read  or  not 
to  read,  to  see  or  not  to  see.  If  need  be,  effect  a  grand  spring- 
cleaning!  You  alone  can  destroy  the  hterature  of  the  music- 
hall  and  the  casino,  the  trashy  novelettes,  that  ravage  the  mean- 
est hamlets  worse  than  alcohol.  Is  this  courage  beyond  your 
strength?  Do  you  fancy  yourself  compelled,  because  it  is 
a  free  country,  to  fuddle  yourself  on  the  vile  rinsings  retailed 
a  few  steps  away  from  your  dwelling?  Why  then  do  you 
nourish  your  spirit  on  things  that  no  one  would  dare  to  retail 
XV  [  17  ] 


ART 

in  the  open  air  ?  Nobody  would  suggest  that  you  should  pass 
your  life  in  preaching;  a  light  or  even  a  fatuous  remark  k  not 
likely  to  offend.  But  for  pity's  sake  insist  that  people  wash 
their  hands  before  entering  your  doors.  Many  a  great  person- 
age whom  you  invite  to  dinner  and  make  much  of  would  be 
wearing  a  livery  and  displaying  his  calves  in  your  entrance- 
hall  if  he  had  remained  an  honest  man.  Dare  to  face  and 
to  praise  things  that  are  true  and  serious.  Diffuse  their  fra- 
grance around  you.  You  are  responsible  for  the  books  that 
lie  about  on  your  table. 

What  a  power  you  would  have  at  command  if  you  acted 
resolutely  in  the  interests  of  beauty!  The  whole  world  would 
lay  down  its  arms  at  your  feet.  The  sentiment  of  the  Beauti- 
ful is  so  strong!  "To  fathom  the  dreams  of  poets  is  the  true 
philosophy,"  said  a  philosopher.  "The  mind  of  the  savant 
stops  at  phenomena;  the  soul  of  the  poet  essays  a  higher  flight, 
his  inward  vision  pierces  to  the  heart  of  reality.  If  the  final 
knowledge  is  that  which  attains,  not  the  surface,  but  the  founda- 
tions of  being,  the  poet's  method  is  the  true  one." 

Wherefore,  surround  yourself  at  any  rate  with  men  who  have 
the  taste  for  rendering  life  musical;  in  your  conversations 
encourage  clear,  clean,  warm  images,  refinements  of  sentiment 
rather  than  tricks  of  style;  spread  abroad  an  air  of  gayety, 
polish,  and,  above  all,  reverence.  Your  door  is  not  that  of  a 
church,  but  neither  is  it  that  of  a  market. 

Some  women  have  too  much  belief  in  men  of  distinction, 
or  so  reputed;  they  imagine  them  upon  a  higher  plane  than 
they  really  are,  and,  especially,  more  difficult  to  reach.  The 
majority  of  them,  foolish  or  eminent,  obscure  or  famous,  reck 
little  of  grand  sentiments,  and  are  satisfied  with  a  modicum 
of  illusion  or  suggestion;  they  are  led  by  means  quite  infantile, 
provided  they  are  carried  out  of  themselves. 

Have  you  sometimes  pondered  our  extraordinary  facility 
for  self-detachment,  whenever  we  perform  an  act  of  imagination 
— if  we  are  reading  a  novel,  for  instance?  We  delight  in  be- 
ing duped;  we  want  to  see  and  hear  everything,  we  fancy  our- 
Belves  present  at  scenes  where  the  novelist  himself  declares 
no  one  was  present.  Thus,  as  has  been  said  by  a  very  witty 
XV  [i8] 


ART 

writer,  we  identify  ourselves  so  thoroughly  with  the  adventures 
of  Pierre  Loti  that  on  the  day  when  the  Academy  received 
into  its  bosom  M.  Julien  Viaud,  naval  officer,  the  whole  assem- 
bly, though  so  fastidiously  select,  thought  they  were  really 
beholding  M.  Loti. 

The  art  of  the  novelist  consists  in  riveting  us  to  what  he 
depicts.  M.  Loti,  for  instance,  to  whom  I  have  just  referred, 
has  admirably  painted  the  sea,  but  he  has  not  sought  to  exalt 
it  to  a  level  with  us;  he  has  lent  to  it  neither  ideas  nor  will, 
sadness  nor  ecstasies;  but  he  has  marvellously  felt  and  caused 
us  to  feel  the  solemnity  of  its  multitudinous  and  changeless  life, 
its  invincible  weight,  its  aimless  perturbation,  and  it  is  in  this 
way  that  he  has  so  powerfully  impressed  us. 

Well,  your  art  is  similar.  You  need  not  trouble  about  your 
merits  or  ours,  but  solely  about  the  effect  you  can  produce 
on  us  who  love  to  be  duped.  Acknowledge  this  as  a  guiding 
principle;  for  it  is  easier  to  regulate  illusions  than  realities. 

Finally,  we  must  clearly  envisage  the  precise  duty  of  women, 
which  is  to  develop  their  natural  gifts,  and  boldly  to  adopt 
the  virtues  in  which  men  are  lacking. 

They  are  the  instrument  of  life,  one  might  almost  say 
the  magic  cauldron  of  life.  They  set  all  its  elements  in  fer- 
mentation. To  cransform  and  to  impart  is  their  whole  concern. 
Scarcely  have  they  opened  their  eyes  upon  the  world  but  they 
must  needs  have  a  doll  to  cherish,  and  tend,  and  fondle.  And 
they  continue  thus  cherishing,  tending,  fondling,  unless  life 
warps  their  nature.  "Their  machinery,"  as  Rousseau  said, 
''is  admirable  for  assuaging  or  exciting  the  passions."  Theirs 
is  a  treasure  that  grows  richer  in  the  spending.  Even  from 
a  physiological  point  of  view,  they  exhibit  a  marvellous  power 
of  endurance.  They  are  not  armed  for  attack;  the  finest 
natured  are  the  strongest;  their  chords  answer  wonderfully 
to  all  appeals  of  sentiment;  they  love  money  with  resignation, 
but  glory  intoxicates  them;  they  live  on  a  glance,  a  breath 
of  kindness;  their  enthusiasm  is  contagious,  and  they  shed 
around  them  the  youth  and  freshness  of  life.  So,  without 
intention  or  effort,  they  are  constantly  bestowing  their  very 
selves,  they  clothe  all  things  with  their  own  enthusiasm.  Science 
XV  [19] 


ART 

they  vindicate  by  the  noble  fruits  they  obtain  from  it;  from  thorns 
they  cause  roses  to  spring  forth,  and  these  roses  in  their  turn 
they  cuhivate,  giving  them  an  added  beauty  and  fragrance, 
and  fresh  blossoms  all  the  season  round.  Excellent  gardeners 
of  the  world !  Their  role  no  doubt  has  varied  with  the  circum- 
stances and  needs  of  different  times;  but  the  urgent  necessities 
of  the  present  time  serve  only  to  accentuate  it  and  bring  it  into 
higher  relief.  The  ignorance  and  weakness  of  women  work 
more  real  mischief  than  the  ignorance  and  weakness  of  men. 
The  passive  virtues  no  longer  avail  for  governing;  active  virtues 
are  the  need  of  to-day. 

In  olden  days,  if  men  loved  the  king,  it  was  because  he 
belonged  to  them  all,  and  represented  something  indispensable 
to  every  society,  a  person  with  no  private  interests,  but  wholly 
devoted  to  the  interest  of  the  public.  Furthermore,  he  had 
no  possessions  entirely  his  own,  not  even  a  park,  not  even  his 
palace.  Now,  daring  as  the  idea  may  appear,  let  us  say  that 
women  also  can  only  reign  on  condition  of  communizing  their 
souls.  Otherwise,  they  will  lose  all  influence,  even  with  their 
sons.  A  woman  comes  short  of  essential  duties  if  she  stops 
at  bemoaning  the  evils  of  the  times  and  playing  patroness  to 
good  little  schoolboys,  instead  of  learning  for  herself  and  re- 
vealing to  others  what  the  evils  of  the  times  really  are,  of  draw- 
ing out  the  manhood  slumbering  within  us,  and  giving  it  new 
graces.  She  bears  the  burden  of  human  joy.  And  a  woman 
of  intelligence  and  leisure  has,  in  this  particular,  duties  more 
complicated  than  she  who  milks  the  cows  or  who  minds  the 
poultry. 

She  must  think  and  love  by  her  own  energy,  instead  of  bear- 
ing in  her  heart  a  thousand  undeveloped  sentiments.  Her 
husband  and  her  friends  hunt,  speculate,  work,  make  havoc 
of  their  lives.  Even  so;  she  has  no  right  to  do  the  same.  If 
she  does  not  redeem  men  when  she  can,  surely  it  is  she  who 
ruins  them! 

No  difficulty  will  discourage  her  if  she  first  fully  realizes 
that  she  possesses  all  that  is  needful  for  success,  and  then  sets 
her  responsibilities  in  a  clear  light. 

She  will  sometimes  make  mistakes;  enthusiasm  itself,  the  deli- 
XV  [ 20  ] 


ART 

cious  art  of  giving  things  charm,  has  its  perils,  carrying  one 
away  into  the  unreal,  opening  a  loophole  for  illusion,  day- 
vlreams,  prejudices,  fictions.  What  matters  it,  so  long  as  the 
tree  is  vigorous?  Would  you  fell  a  superb  poplar  because 
you  noticed  upon  it  some  sprigs  of  mistletoe  ? 

A  woman  may  also  go  astray  in  point  of  vanity.  That  is 
a  pretty  common  folly  (even  among  men),  and  very  provoking 
when  it  is  shown  in  questions  of  etiquette  or  dress.  But  why 
should  we  not  agree  that  there  is  a  noble,  an  excellent  form  of 
vanity,  which  consists  in  being  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  things  one  can  love,  rejoicing  in  the  apostleship  one  exer- 
cises, and  securing  success  therein  by  cultivating  diligence, 
refinement,  considerateness,  industry,  persuasiveness?  Where 
is  the  harm? 

But  we  need  not  dwell  on  these  fears.  The  special  goal 
of  a  woman's  life,  that  in  which  it  is  distinguished  from  the 
life  of  men,  is  manifest;  it  is  the  great  things,  the  things  to  be 
loved,  the  things  which  do  not  "pay."  Man  serves  money. 
You  make  it  your  servant,  ladies,  and  you  must  aim  higher, 
at  the  things  that  are  not  bought  and  sold;  attachments,  real 
friendships — those  are  your  speculations.  Be  faithful  to  your 
aim.     In  faithfulness  is  redemption. 

A  moment!  As  I  bow  to  you,  I  seem  to  see  on  my  wall, 
in  place  of  a  modern  paper,  a  grand  fresco  of  long  ago,  an 
exquisite  symbol  of  your  reign :  the  Angel  from  Heaven,  kneel- 
ing in  humble  adoration  before  the  spotless  Motherhood,  pro- 
claiming that  from  your  devotion  shall  proceed  the  welfare 
of  mankind.  The  scene  is  simple  and  sweet,  the  color  serene: 
a  closed  room,  a  curtain  hanging,  barely  a  glimpse  of  the  sky. 


XV  [ 21 ] 


XVI 


ART  AND  MORALITY 


BY 


FERDINAND  BRUNETIERE 

FORMER    PRESIDENT    OF    THE     FRENCH     ACADEMy] 


/ 


T  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  series  to  attack  or  to  condemn. 
It  seeks  rather  to  understand,  and  to  uphold.  Yet  there 
are  some  errors  so  obtrusive  that  one  can  only  advance  by  pushing 
them  aside,  so  blatant  that  the  busy  man  is  apt  to  accept  them  as 
being  established  when  really  they  are  merely  being  shouted. 
Such  an  error  we  here  confront.  The  high  mission  of  art,  its 
intimate  relation  with  much  that  is  noblest  in  life,  has  perhaps 
been  brought  home  to  each  of  us  by  the  words  of  Mr.  Howells 
and  Mr.  DeMaule;  while  closely  allied  with  this  broad  general 
question  of  the  purpose  of  art  is  the  problem,  much  discussed  in 
present  days,  of  art's  relation  to  morality.  Now,  it  has  been 
shouted  at  us  that  no  such  relation  exists— as  though  anywhere 
in  all  this  universe  any  object  could  stand  isolated,  untouching 
and  untouched  by  its  surroundings !  On  the  other  hand,  some 
men  have  thought  that  the  whole  deep  subject  of  morality  is  per- 
haps best  approached  through  its  relationship  to  art. 

We  in  this  country  are  sometimes  accused  of  being  too  '' Puri- 
tan'' a  people,  and  of  being,  like  our  English  cousins,  too  heavily 
''of  the  earth."  Hence  it  is  perhaps  as  well  that  we  should  here 
listen  to  the  word  of  a  continental  European,  some  leading  man 
of  letters  known  to  and  respected  by  us  all.  Such  o  man  is,  or 
alas,  was,  Ferdinand  Brunetiere,  who  died  last  fall.  He  was 
one  of  the  ''Forty  Immortals,"  the  Royal  Academy  of  France; 
he  was  acknowledged  the  foremost  critic  of  our  day;  and  he  was 
XVI  [  i] 


ART   AND   MORALITY 

well  known  J  in  America  as  well  as  Europe,  as  a  lecturer  oj  rare 
grace  and  power.  The  following  address  was  delivered  by  him 
in  Paris  under  the  auspices  oj  the  Societe  des  Conjerenccs;  and 
the  present  translation  was  made  jor  the  Living  Age,  oj  Boston, 
is  covered  by  its  special  copyright,  and  is  here  used  by  the  cour 
teous  permission  oj  its  editors.  M.  Brunetiere's  dissection  oj 
the  principles  oj  art  must  prove  to  a  layman  both  instructive  and 
interesting;  his  outlook  on  morality  may  be  oj  even  wider  value. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen:— 

In  order  that  I  may  not  surprise  any  one,  and  also  that  I 
may  secure  to  myself  the  benefit  of  my  frankness,  I  will  tell 
you  at  the  very  beginning  that,  in  this  lecture,  I  purpose  to  be 
long,  tiresome,  obscure,  and  commonplace  withal.  iVnd,  in 
truth,  the  fault  will  not  be  entirely  in  me,  but  in  the  subject  I 
have  chosen:  Morahty  in  Art,  or  rather,  Art  and  Morahty,  a 
trite  subject,  as  you  know;  for  since  the  time  of  Plato,  at  least, 
it  has  been  the  common  ground  of  conversation  in  academies, 
salons,  studios,  schools;  and  in  spite,  or  rather  because,  of  its 
banahty  it  is  a  subject  both  complex  and  difhcult. 

I  say  because  of  its  triteness;  and  indeed  one  of  the  great 
mistakes  we  make  in  regard  to  "commonplaces"  is  beheving 
them  easy  to  deal  with.  We  have  no  doubt  that  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to-day  is  to  be,  or  seem  to  be,  original;  and 
the  means  thereto  have  become  so  simple!  We  simply  have 
to  maintain  the  opposite  of  what  people  around  us  think;  to 
say  of  charity,  for  example,  that  there  is  no  need  to  practise 
it — and  that  is  what  a  whole  school  is  teaching — to  say  of  justice 
that  there  is  no  need  to  administer  it ;  to  say  of  patriotism  that 
it  is  a  prejudice  of  another  age;  and  twenty  paradoxes  of  the 
same  nature.  This  is  a  sure  way  of  astonishing,  of  cheaply 
shocking,  one's  readers  or  hearers,  and  to-day  it  is  the  A  B  C 
of  the  art  of  the  paragrapher  and  of  the  platform  lecturer. 

In  these  days  intellectuahty  merely  consists  in  thinking  the 
opposite  of  other  people!  But,  on  the  other  hand,  to  think  hke 
everybody  else;  to  seek  sohd  reasons  and  precise  reasons  that 
are  those  of  almost  all  reasonable  people  or  of  all  cultivated 
people,  to  confirm  people,  as  need  be  perhaps,  in  what  the 
XVI  [  2  ] 


ART  AND  MORALITY 

learned  Professor  Lombroso  has  called  their  misoneism — and 
which  is  only  a  wise  distrust  of  novelty — to  tell  them  there  are 
ideas,  old  ideas,  without  which  the  life  of  humanity  cannot  do 
any  more  than  without  bread;  in  a  word,  to  communicate  to 
them  the  rare  courage,  the  unusual  audacity,  of  not  wishing, 
at  any  price,  to  appear  more  '"advanced"  than  their  times — 
that,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  yes,  that  is  a  difficult  undertaking, 
that  is  a  hazardous  undertaking:  and  that  is  what  I  would 
try  to  do  to-day. 


You  know  the  problem,  and  I  have  only  to  remind  you  of 
the  terms  in  which  it  is  stated.  If  we  are  to  beheve  the  artists 
in  this  matter,  at  least  certain  of  the  artists,  and  the  greater 
number  of  the  critics,  or  aesthetes,  but  specially  the  journal- 
ists, Art,  great  Art,  Art  with  a  capital  A,  would  transform, 
would  transmute  into  pure  gold  everything  it  touches,  would 
subhmate  it,  so  to  speak ,  and  would  make  a  thing  to  be  ad- 
mired out  of  a  thing  obscene  or  most  atrocious.  Do  not  some 
call  this  a  means  of  purgation  ? 

"There's  not  a  monster  bred  beneath  the  sky. 
But,  well  disposed  by  art,  may  please  the  eye" 

Pascal  said  the  same  thing,  but  in  a  far  more  Jansenist 
manner,  when  he  wrote:  "What  a  vanity  is  painting,  which 
attracts  our  admiration  by  the  imitation  of  things  which  we 
do  not  admire  in  reality."  You  see  that  I  am  keeping  my 
promise,  and  one  could  scarcely  bring  forward  more  familiar 
quotations. 

Illustrious  examples,  moreover,  confirm,  or  seem  to  confirm, 
the  sentence  of  Pascal  and  the  verses  of  Boileau.  We  admire 
in  good  faith,  we  credit  ourselves  with  good  taste  for  admiring, 
under  Greek  names,  Venuses  which  we  would  not  dare  to  name 
in  French;  and  if  we  strip  (I  well  know  it  is  a  sacrilege),  but  if 
we  do  really  strip  the  subject  of  Corneille's  "Rodogune"  or 
of  Racine's  "Bajazet,"  for  example,  of  the  prestige  of  poetry, 
which  transfigures  them;  if  we  reduce  both  of  them  to  the 
essence  of  the  fable  which  sustains  them,  what  will  remain  of 
XVI  [  3  ] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

them  but  two  intrigues  of  the  harem,  which  would  be  all  very 
well  in  their  place  in  the  annals  of  crime  and  indecency.^ 

Yet  we  are  told,  neither  "Bajazet"  nor  "Rodogune,"  es- 
pecially, are  works  which  we  can  tax  as  immoral.  In  seizing 
on  these  intrigues,  the  poet — and  it  is  his  privilege — has  trans- 
formed their  nature.  That  man  would  be  condemned,  he  would 
be  disquahfied,  who,  in  the  presence  of  the  goddesses  of  Praxit- 
eles, felt  emotions  other  than  those  of  the  most  chaste  and  dis- 
interested admiration.  The  fact  is,  we  are  further  told,  the 
artist  or  the  poet  has  Hfted  us  above  what  is  instinctive  or  animal 
in  us;  they  have  performed  this  miracle  by  placing  us — how, 
is  not  very  well  known,  by  a  secret  known  only  to  them — in  a 
sphere  where  the  gross  excitements  of  sense  arc  unknown;  they 
have  freed  us  from  ourselves  (you  know  the  theory  of  the  liberat- 
ing power  of  art,  that  of  the  "purgation  of  the  emotions,"  and 
I  need  only  to  allude  to  it  in  passing^);  and  we  have  entered 
with  them  into  the  region  of  supreme  calm  and  of  divine  repose. 

La  Mort  peut  disperser  les  univers  tremblans, 
Mais  la  Beaute  flamboie,  et  tout  renait  en  elle, 
Et  les  mondes  encore  roulent  sous  ses  pieds  blancs.^ 

That  is  not  my  opinion. 

And  first,  if  this  were  the  place  to  produce  texts,  I  should 
not  be  embarrassed  to  prove  that  Greek  sculpture — I  mean 
that  of  the  great  epoch — fell  short  of  that  character  of  ideal 
purity  that  we  are  accustomed  to  attribute  to  it.  It  is  pagan; 
and  we  must  remember  that  when  we  speak  of  it !  And  pagan- 
ism is  not  here  or  there,  the  rehgion  of  Jupiter  or  that  of  Venus, 
the  mysteries  of  Eleusis  or  the  Thesmophoria,  but  simply,  and 
in  a  word,  the  adoration  of  the  energies  of  nature.  Here  cus- 
tom makes  us  bHnd ;  but  in  order  to  see  clearly,  think  Vv'hat  the 

^  It  is  well  known  that  Racine's  boldness  in  the  choice  of  his  subjects, 
as  in  his  freedom  of  observation  and  in  the  detail  of  his  style,  has  long 
before  equalled  or  surpassed  the  most  audacious  liberty  that  romanti- 
cism could  imagine  at  a  later  time. — B. 

2  See  Hegel's  Aesthelik,  and  Schopenhauer  on  the  aesthetics  of 
poetry  in  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea 

3  "Death  may  shatter  the  trembling  universe;  but  Beauty's  torch 
ever  flames  aloft,  and  all  things  revive,  and  the  worlds  once  more  roll  on 
beneath  her  white  feet.'-' 

XVI  [4] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

amours  of  the  chief  gods — Europa,  Danae,  Leda,  Semele,  Gany- 
mede— have  become  with  an  Ovid,  for  example,  or  with  very 
great  painters,  a  Michael  Angelo,  a  da  Vinci,  a  Correggio,  a 
Veronese;  and  more  generally,  all  those  voluptuous  fictions 
which,  after  having  furnished  the  materials  of  classic  art,  have 
come  to  their  end  in  the  terrible  games  in  the  amphitheatre. 
Ask  yourselves,  in  another  art  and  in  another  order  of  ideas, 
whether — vv^hen  we  come  from  seeing  this  "Bajazet"  or  this 
•'Rodogune"  played,  of  which  I  was  speaking  just  now — 
whether  the  impression  w^hich  we  carry  from  it  has  not  some- 
thing of  mingled  estrangement,  of  suspicious  estrangement  ? 

On  this  point  there  is  a  confession  of  Diderot  which  you 
will  find  quite  eloquent,  and  which  will  show,  too,  how  this 
creator  of  "art  criticism"  admired  the  "  Antiope"  by  Correggio.* 
Alas!  gentlemen,  Corncille,  the  great  Corneille,  is  not  always 
moral:  And  I  mean  by  that  that  I  would  not  be  sure  of  the 
quahty  of  the  soul  formed  in  the  school  of  his  "heroism"  alone. 
It  would  be  lacking  in  what  Shakespeare  has  so  finely  called 
"  the  milk  of  human  kindness." 

I  continue,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  say  trite  things,  ex- 
ceedingly trite  things,  things  even  worthy  of  Mrs.  Grundy,  and 
what  would  the  case  be  if  I  wished  to  take  my  examples  from 
music  instead  of  from  painting,  sculpture,  or  poetry?  But 
this  is  the  most  banal  of  all  these  things — I  mean  that,  of  which 
you  are  all  secretly,  though  perhaps  without  knowing  it,  most 
certainly  convinced;  yet  which  is  most  difficult  to  prove.  It 
is  that  these  examples  have  nothing  that  need  astonish  us  if  in 
every  form  or  every  species  of  art  there  is,  as  principle  or  germ, 
a  furtive  immorahty.  Note  that  I  am  not  speaking  of  inferior 
forms  of  art;  of  the  cafe-concert  song,  for  example,  of  the 
vaudeville,  or  of  the  dance.  Of  the  dance!  Yes,  I  know  that 
David  danced  before  the  ark,  and  we  hear  every  day  much  talk 
of  hieratic  dances,  of  sacred  dances,  of  martial  dances.  There 
is  also  the  danse  du  ventre ;  and  I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised 
if  some  grave  author  should  find  it  symbolic.  But  symbolic 
or  expressive  of  w^hat?  That  is  the  point;  and  no  one  else 
will  pretend  that  it  is  expressive  of  decency  or  modesty.     "How 

1  "Salon  de  1 761,"  and  Letter  to  Mile.  Voland,  17th  Aug.,  1759. 

XVI  [  5  ] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

much  there  is  to  a  minuet!"  said  a  famous  dancing  master. 
Why,  certainly,  but  how  much  of  what?  For,  certainly  the 
opera  ballet  may  have  all  sorts  of  qualities — quahtics  that  I 
myself  may  have  the  weakness  not  to  despise:  that  they  have 
not  the  quahty  of  elevating  the  mind  is  something  of  which  I 
am  certain !     Neither  has  a  cafe-concert  song,  nor  a  vaudeville. 

But  since  this  is  not  what  we  ask  of  them,  I  will  not  insist. 
That  would  be  to  make  myself  ridiculous!  Let  us  take  the 
highest  things.  I  speak  to  you  of  great  art,  of  the  greatest  art : 
it  is  in  the  notion  of  great  art  that  I  say  a  germ  of  immorality 
is  enveloped;  and  it  is  here  that  I  am  going  to  become  weari- 
some. Of,  rather,  not  yet,  ladies  and  gentlemen;  that  will  be 
presently;  for  I  must  first  of  all  tell  you  of  the  memorable  ex- 
ploit of  M.  Taine,  the  miost  glorious  of  his  exploits,  and  the  one 
which  most  eloquently  testifies  that  in  him  sincerity  of  research 
and  uprightness  of  character  did  not  yield  to  brilHancy  of  talent. 

He  began,  as  you  know — in  conforming  with  his  intention 
of  finding  an  objective  foundation  for  critical  judgments,  and 
thus  of  rescuing  the  works  of  hterature  and  art  from  the  caprice 
of  particular  opinions — by  taking  the  attitude  which  I  will  not 
call  indifferent  or  uninterested,  but  impartial  and  impersonal, 
which  is  that  of  the  zoologist  before  the  animal  or  of  the  botanist 
with  regard  to  the  plant.  When  the  zoologist  studies  the  habits 
of  the  hyena  or  of  the  antelope,  of  the  jackal  or  of  the  dog,  and 
when  the  botanist  describes  to  us  the  rose  or  the  Datura  stra- 
monium, the  belladonna  or  ''the  sacred  blade  which  gives  us 
bread,"  you  know  they  always  use  the  same  patient  method, 
and  we  do  not  see  them  angry  with  the  ferocious  beast  or  the 
poisonous  plant.  We  do  not  find  them  changing  either  tone  or 
composure  of  mind  with  their  subject.  Taine  tried  to  imitate 
them,  and  for  a  moment  he  could  believe  that  he  had  succeeded ; 
when,  as  yet  knowing  only  France  and  England,  on  his  appoint- 
ment as  professor  of  aesthetics  in  the  ficole  des  Beaux-Arts, 
he  visited  Italy.  That  was  a  revelation.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  best,  the  mediocre,  and  the  worst,  that  difference, 
that  sense  of  difference,  to  which  the  spirit  of  system  so  easily 
blinds  us  in  literature,  because  words  express  ideas  and  because 
we  have  a  leaning  toward  ideas  that  resemble  our  own,  how- 
XVI  [  6  ] 


ART  AND  MORALITY 

ever  feebly  they  may  be  expressed — this  difference  which  we 
do  not  always  appreciate  in  music,  because  music  is  a  kind  of 
science  as  well  as  an  art,  and  especially  because  our  judgments 
do  not  anywhere  depend  more  on  the  state  of  our  nerves  than 
in  music— this,  on  the  other  hand,  stands  out  clearly  in  painting, 
in  sculpture ;  and  Taine  was  forcibly  struck  by  it. 

That,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  is  why,  when  he  began  those 
celebrated  lectures  on  "The  Production  of  the  Work  of  Art," 
on  ''Art  in  Italy,"  "Art  in  Holland,"  "Art  in  Greece,"  on  "The 
Ideal  in  Art  " — certainly,  with  the  work  of  Eugene  Fromentin 
on  "The  Early  Masters,"  and  some  rare  writings  of  M.  Guil- 
laume,  the  most  remarkable  things  which  art  criticism  has  pro- 
duced in  our  times  ^ — that  is  why  it  appeared  to  him  necessary 
to  classify,  to  judge  works,  to  estabhsh  "scales  of  values" — 
what  is  more  pedantically  called  an  aesthetic  criterion — in  order 
to  judge  them.  And  where  did  he  find  this  criterion,  gentle- 
men, after  having  long  sought  for  it,  where  did  he  find  it,  he, 
the  pupil  of  Condillac  and  of  Hegel,  the  theorist  and  philoso- 
pher of  the  impassibihty  of  criticism,  whose  most  serious  re- 
proach to  the  Cousins  and  Jouffroys  was  that  of  trying  to  bring 
everything  to  the  "moral  point  of  view"?  What  is  the  sign 
by  which  he  declared  that  the  most  elevated  in  the  museum  of 
masterpieces  can  be  recognized  ? 

It  is  by  what  he  calls  "the  degree  of  beneficence  in  the 
character." 

And  what,  then,  are  the  works  he  places  highest  in  the 
heaven  of  art — he,  I  repeat,  the  theorist  of  naturalism,  whose 
deeper  sympathies  all  went,  in  spite  of  himself,  to  the  mani- 
festations of  force  and  violence?  Now  it  is  "Polyeucte,"  "le 
Cid,"  "les  Horace,"  it  is  "Pamela,"  "Clarissa,"  "Grandison," 
it  is  "Mauprat,"  "Francois  le  Champi,"  "La  Mare  au  Diablc," 
it  is  "Hermann  and  Dorothea,"  it  is  Goethe's  "Iphigenia,"  it 
is  Tennyson  with  his  "Idylls  of  the  King."  Who,  in  very 
truth,  would  have  suspected  it  only  three  or  four  years  before, 
when  he  wrote  his  "History  of  Enghsh  Literature,"  and  when, 

^  Fromentin  in  painting  and  M.  Eugene  Guillaume  in  sculpture  (see 
his  essay  on  Michael  Angelo)  have  added  to  Taine 's  criticism  what  it 
lacked  on  the  side  of  "technique." — B. 
XVI  [  7  ] 


ART  AND  MORALITY 

with  an  energy  of  style  which  at  times  resembled  a  gymnastic 
feat,  he  glorified,  in  the  drama  of  Shakespeare  or  in  the  poetry 
of  Byron,  the  splendid  villany  of  Don  Juan  or  of  lago  ? 

I  do  not  discuss  these  judgments,  gentlemen;  I  do  not  deny 
any  of  them  to-day;  I  do  not  speak  to  you  of  the  reservations 
they  permit,  and  of  the  principal  ones  which  the  author  himself 
has  made.  But  I  see  in  them  an  instructive  testimony — a  pre- 
sumption, if  you  hke — for  what  I  was  saying  to  you  just  now: 
that  is,  that  the  art  which  has  only  itself  as  an  object,  the  art 
which  does  not  care  for  the  quality  of  the  characters  it  expresses ; 
the  art,  in  a  word,  which  does  not  take  account  of  the  impres- 
sions which  it  is  capable  of  making  on  the  senses  or  of  exciting 
in  the  mind,  that  art,  however  great  in  the  artist,  I  do  not  say  is 
inferior  (that  is  another  question),  but  I  say  that  it  necessarily 
tends  to  immorality.  I  am  now  going  to  try  to  give  you  the 
reasons  for  this. 

II 

There  is  one  reason  which,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  as  clear 
as  noon-day;  and  which  is  that  every  form  of  art,  in  order  to 
reach  the  mind,  is  obhged  to  have  recourse  to  the  mediation, 
not  only  of  the  senses,  but  of  the  pleasure  of  the  senses.  No 
painting  but  must  first  of  all  be  a  joy  to  the  eye !  No  music  but 
must  be  a  pleasure  to  the  ear !  No  poetry  but  must  be  a  caress ! 
And  that  very  thing,  we  may  remark  in  passing,  is  one  of  the 
reasons  for  the  changes  in  fashion  and  taste.  The  works  exist ; 
and  whether  good  or  bad,  they  remain  what  they  are.  We  Hke 
them  or  we  do  not  like  them !  They  do  not  change  in  character ; 
the  ''  Ihad  "  is  always  the  "  Ihad,"  Raphael's  ''  School  of  Athens  " 
is  always  the  "  School  of  Athens."  But  the  senses  become  refined, 
or  rather  they  are  sharpened ;  they  become  more  subtle  and  more 
exacting ;  they  require,  in  order  to  experience  the  same  quantity 
of  pleasure,  a  greater  amount  of  excitation.  As  has  been  well 
observed,  "la  Dame  Blanche,"  "le  Pre-aux-Clercs,"'  and  so 
many  other  operas  we  to-day  call  out-of-date — although  their 
representation  once  was  profitable  to  dozens  of  theatres  in  Ger- 
many— these  works  doubtless  gave  to  our  fathers  the  same  kind 
of  pleasure  as  "  Carmen,"  for  example,  or  ''  Die  Meistersinger," 
gives  us.  It  is  because  their  less  practised  ears  were  less  exacting. 
XVI  [8] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

Have  you  never  asked  yourselves  at  times  whence  comes  the 
scorn  it  is  fashionable,  in  the  last  few  years,  to  show  toward 
Raphael's  painting  ?  Independently  of  the  element  of  snobbery 
which  is  certainly  mixed  with  it — and  which  consists  in  people 
thinking  that  this  gives  them  the  air  of  connoisseurs — it  is  be- 
cause after  the  lapse  of  fifty  years  our  eyes  have  learned  to 
enjoy  color  far  more  intensely  than  formerly.  The  sense  for 
color,  which,  as  you  know,  has  had  a  long  history,  and  the  in- 
creasing complexity  of  which  in  the  progress  of  time  we  can 
follow,  seems  to  have  profited  by  what  the  sense  of  design  and 
form  has  lost.  And  we  deHght  in  reds  or  blues,  yellows  or 
greens  to-day,  as  such,  demanding  only  vigor  or  delicacy. 
Perhaps  this,  too,  is  the  reason,  or  one  at  least,  for  the  develop- 
ment of  landscape.  The  chief  factor  of  landscape  is  light  or 
color,  a  pleasure  purely  sensuous,  or  primarily  sensuous,  which 
it  affords  us ;  and  do  not  the  very  words  we  use  to  admire,  for 
example,  a  canvas  by  Corot  indicate  it,  when  we  speak  of  the 
calm,  of  the  freshness,  of  the  melancholy,  which  we  breathe 
there?  All  that  is  not  only  sensed,  but  sensuous;  and  I  do  not 
think  I  need  support  this  point  any  further. 

But  there  result  from  this,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  several 
consequences;  and  thus  it  is  that  we  see — I  say,  in  history — 
that  when  art  is  left  to  itself  and  seeks  its  principle  only  in  it- 
self— poetry,  music,  or  painting— it  degenerates  into  a  mass  of 
artifices  to  stir  up  sensuality.  Then  no  one  asks  of  it  anything 
more ;  it  itself  no  longer  thinks  of  anything  but  of  pleasing,  and 
of  pleasing  at  any  price,  by  every  means ;  and  it  literally  changes 
from  a  leader  or  from  a  guide,  into  a  kind  of  go-between.  That 
is  the  only  name  which  fits  it  when  I  think  of  the  close  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  of  the  novels  of  Duclos  and  of  Crebillon 
the  younger,  of  that  of  Laclos:  "les  Liaisons  dangereuses  " ;  of 
the  sculpture  of  Clodion;  of  the  painting  of  Boucher,  of  Frago- 
nard ;  of  the  libertine  engravings  of  so  many  dandies ;  of  that 
furor  of  eroticism  which  disgraces  not  only  the  "Poesies"  of 
Parny,  but  even  those  of  Andre  Chenier. 

Let  us  be  bold  enough  to  confess  it;  all  this  art  which  is  so 
praised  to  us,  which  is  still  celebrated,  all  this  art,  in  all  its 
forms,  was,  for  nearly  half  a  century,  scarcely  anything  but  a 
XVI  [9] 


ART   .\ND   MORALITY 

perpetual  incentive  to  debauch ;  and  do  you  think  that,  although 
it  be  called  elegant,  debauchery  is  any  the  less  dangerous  ?  As 
for  me,  I  believe  it  is  far  more  so ! 

Here  is  something  graver  still.  At  heart,  when  they  are  not 
devoid  of  all  moral  sense,  these  Fragonards  or  these  Crebillons 
cannot  but  know  that  they  ply  a  shameful  trade.  But  the 
seduction  of  form  sometimes  w^orks  in  a  more  subtle  and  in- 
sidious fashion,  for  which  the  artist  or  the  pubhc  can  scarcely 
themselves  account,  and  of  which  the  effects  are  more  disastrous ; 
for  while  corrupting  the  principle  of  art  there  is  the  appearance 
of  respecting  it;  optimi  corruptio  pessima.  When  an  exagger- 
ated importance,  not  to  say  an  importance  which  ignores  all 
else,  is  attributed  to  the  form,  then  it  is  that  there  results,  from 
this  very  importance,  what  an  Italian  critic,  writing  of  the  de- 
cadence of  Italian  art,  has  justly  called  "the  difference  to  the 
content."^  That  is  when  the  painter,  Correggio  or  Titian, 
with  the  same  hand,  as  skilful,  as  caressing,  as  licentious,  but 
as  sure,  with  which  he  yesterday  painted  a  "Madonna"  or  an 
"Assumption,"  to-day  paints,  warm  and  amber  on  a  dark 
background,  the  nudity  of  a  courtesan.  It  is  when  a  Montes- 
quieu, with  the  same  pen  with  which  he  has  thrown  on  paper  a 
sketch  of  the  "Spirit  of  Law,"  writes  the  "Persian  Letters"  or 
the  "Temple  de  Gnide."  Or  better  still,  it  is  when  relaxation 
is  taken  after  writing  a  "Stabat"  by  writing  the  music  of  a 
ballet.  For,  what,  indeed,  do  the  things  we  say  matter  ?  What 
must  be  considered  is  the  manner  of  saying  them!  Form  is 
everything,  the  basis  is  nothing,  if  it  is  not  the  pretext  or  occa- 
sion for  form.  And,  as  this  striving,  as  this  care,  as  this 
passion  for  form  never  fails  to  lead  to  new  effects;  as  the 
qualities  lost  are,  or  seem  to  be,  replaced  by  others;  as  the 
execution  becomes  more  masterly  or  more  skilful,  it  cannot  at 
first  be  seen  where  that  leads  to.  That,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
leads  directly  to  dilettanteism ;  and  dilettanteism  is  the  death 
both  of  all  art  and  of  all  morahty. 

Oh,  certainly,  I  know  very  well  I  speak  like  a  barbarian, 
not  to  say  like  one  possessed;  at  all  events,  Hke  an  iconoclast; 
and  you  are  used  to  sec  something  else  in  dilettanteism.     Dilet- 

*  Francesco  de  Sanctis,  "Storia  della  Letterature  Italiana." 
XVI  [  lO  ] 


ART   AND   MORALITY 

tanteism,  I  know,  for  the  most  of  those  who  profess  it  and  glory 
in  it,  for  the  most  of  those  who  are  in  sympathy  with  it,  means 
independence  of  mind,  hberty,  diversity,  superiority  of  taste; 
it  means  absence  of  prejudices;  it  is  the  faculty  of  comprehend- 
ing everything.  But,  gentlemen,  is  it  also  the  faculty  of  ex- 
cusing everything  ?  For,  indeed,  we  who  beheve  in  anything, 
and  who  have  what  are  called  "principles" — you  know  that 
that  means  to-day  that  we  are  Hmited  on  all  sides — can  any  one 
imagine  that,  when  we  adopt,  when  we  maintain,  an  opinion, 
we  have  not  seen  the  reasons  for  the  contrary  opinion,  or  the 
difficulties  of  the  one  we  adopt  ?  Alas !  there  is  not  a  critic 
or  historian  worthy  of  the  name  who  does  not  argue  against  his 
tastes,  who  does  not  combat  his  own  pleasures,  who  does  not 
harden  himself  against  the  things  that  attract  him.  But  dilet- 
tanteism  is  nothing  but  an  incapacity  for  taking  sides,  an  en- 
feeblement  of  the  will,  when  it  is  not  a  clouding  of  the  moral 
sense;  and — on  the  most  favorable  supposition — a  tendency, 
eminently  immoral,  to  make  of  the  beauty  of  things  the  measure 
of  their  absolute  value. 

When  art  comes  to  that — and  it  necessarily  comes  to  that 
whenever  it  seeks  its  end  only  in  itself  or  in  what  is  emphatically 
called  the  reahzation  of  pure  beauty — I  once  more  repeat,  it 
is  not  only  art  which  is  ruined:  it  is  morality,  or,  if  you  want 
something  more  precise,  it  is  society,  which  has  made  an  idol  of 
it.  We  have  a  memorable  example  of  this  in  the  Italy  of  the 
fifteenth  and  of  the  sixteenth  centuries,  assuredly  one  of  the 
most  corrupt  societies  of  history,  according  to  the  admission 
of  all  historians ;  the  Italy  of  all  these  tyrants  to  whom  we  seem 
to  have  pardoned  everything  because  they  have  had  triumphal 
mythologies  painted  in  fresco  on  the  walls  and  ceihngs  of  their 
palaces;  or  because  the  daggers  they  buried  in  the  breasts  of 
their  victims  were  marvellously  carved  by  a  Benvenuto  Cellini. 
And  do  you  know  whence  is  this  corruption,  gentlemen  ?  Pre- 
cisely from  this  idolizing  of  art,  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  from  the 
subordination  of  every  part  of  pubHc  and  private  life  to  art  and 
its  demands.     An  excellent  critic  has  said : 

"The  Italians  of  the  Rennaissance,  under  the  sway  of  the 
fine   arts,   sought   after  form,   and   satisfied   themselves  with 

XVI  [  II  ] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

rhetoric.  Therefore  we  condemn  their  moral  disquisitions  and 
their  criticisms  as  the  flimsy  playthings  of  intellectual  volup- 
tuaries. Yet  the  right  way  of  doing  justice  to  these  stylistic 
trifles  is  to  regard  them  as  products  of  an  all-embracing  genius 
for  art,  in  a  people  whose  most  serious  enthusiasms  were  aes- 
thetic. ...  If  the  methods  of  science  may  be  truly  said  to 
regulate  our  modes  of  thinking  at  the  present  time,  it  is  no  less 
true  that,  during  the  Rennaissance,  art  exercised  a  like  con- 
trolling influence." 

Note,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  last  comparison;  we  shall 
return  to  it  in  a  httle  while.  Penetrated  with  the  idea  of  the 
"beautiful,"  Italy  went  so  far  as  to  find  it  in  crime.  It  recog- 
nized in  a  crime  well  done,  boldly  conceived,  skilfully  executed, 
and  audaciously  avowed,  merits  and  analogues  to  those  she  ap- 
plauded in  her  works  of  art.  Why  is  that?  You  see  why, 
perhaps.  It  is  in  distinguishing  and  dividing  the  invisible,  in 
separating  the  inseparable,  in  dissociating  the  form  from  the 
substance;  it  is  in  placing  in  the  execution  all  the  merit  of  art. 
As  long  as  this  tendency  found  its  counterpoise  in  the  sincerity 
of  the  religious,  moral,  social,  or  political  sentiment,  it  gave  to 
the  world  the  masterpieces  which  you  know,  from  the  "Divine 
Comedy"  to  the  decoration  of  the  Sistine.  But  according  as 
the  tendency  was  able  to  develop  freely,  the  decadence  of  art 
was  seen  to  commence,  followed  by  the  decadence  of  morahty. 
That  is  a  first-class  proof,  in  my  opinion — a  proof  by  the 
facts,  a  proof  by  history — that  every  form  of  art  contains  a 
principle  of  immorality,  and  there  is  another  in  the  fact  that 
it  is  obliged  to  address  the  mind  only  by  the  mediation  of 
the  pleasure  of  the  senses,  of  which  art  must  exercise  a  wise 
mistrust,  the  chief  part  of  which  will  be  never  to  seek  its  end 
in  itself. 

It  is  to  that,  you  know,  that  people  have  tried  to  answer,  in 
giving  as  its  end  the  imitation  of  nature;  and  as  regards  this, 
I  begin  by  declaring  that  two  things  are  equally  certain:  that 
we  are  cured  of  dilettanteism  or  of  virtuosity  only  by  returning 
to  the  imitation  of  nature;  and  the  other  is  that  if  the  imitation 
of  nature  is  not,  perhaps,  the  end  of  art,  it  is  at  least  the  principle. 
"All  rules,"  said  a  great  painter,  "have  been  made  only  to  aid 

XVI  [  12  ] 


ART  AND  MORALITY 

us  in  placing  ourselves  before  nature,  and  thus  to  teach  us  to 
see  it  better  " ;  and  a  great  poet  has  said  before  him : 

"Nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean ;   so,  over  that  art 
Which  you  say  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes. 

But  what  is  this  nature  which  it  is  a  question  of  imitating? 
How,  in  what  measure,  ought  we  to  imitate  it?  If  we  feel  in 
us  any  temptation  to  correct  it,  or,  as  is  said,  to  perfect  it,  ought 
we  to  yield  to  it  ?  And  how,  in  short,  have  morals  or  morahty 
accommodated  themselves  ?  I  mean,  how,  in  fact  and  in  his- 
tory, have  they  accommodated  themselves  to  that  recommenda- 
tion and  that  principle  ? 

I  will  not  examine,  gentlemen,  whether  nature  is  always 
beautiful,  or  whether  it  is  never  so.  The  question  would  take 
us  too  far  afield.  Truly,  I,  for  my  part,  will  freely  say  that  if 
colors  are  not  in  objects,  but  in  our  eye  (and  that  is  proven),  the 
proof  would  have  greater  validity  for  that  relative  and  changing 
quality  which  is  called  *' Beauty."  Plato  has  said,  or  rather 
has  been  made  to  say,  that  "the  beautiful  is  the  splendor  of  the 
true";  and  I  admire  Plato;  none  the  less,  this  is  an  example  of 
one  of  these  immortal  blunders  which  we  piously  transmit 
from  generation  to  generation.  If  we  only  take  the  trouble  to 
try  to  understand  ourselves,  there  is  no  "beauty"  in  a  geo- 
metrical theorem,  nor  in  a  chemical  law,  or  at  least  the  beauty 
shines  in  it  only  with  a  mild  brilhance,  modest  and  timid. 
There  is  beauty,  in  the  human  sense  of  the  word,  only  in  those 
very  general  laws  that  are,  properly  speaking,  hypotheses  rather 
than  laws,  and  of  which  I  do  not  wish  to  speak  disparagingly, 
because  it  may  be  that  the  search  for  them  is  the  very  end,  the 
highest  end,  of  science.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  might 
easily  show  that  there  have  been  some  very  great  mistakes. 
But,  I  repeat,  and  without  wishing  to  examine  the  question, 
ugHness  as  well  as  beauty  is  in  nature ;  and  you  know,  we  all 
know,  some  artists  who  have  seen  it  alone.  The  romanticists 
have  even  made  the  representation  of  the  ugly  an  essential  part 
of  their  aesthetics — and  it  certainly  is  not  on  this  point  that 
contemporary  naturalism  has  disavowed  them. 
XVI  [  13  ] 


ART   AND   MORALITY 

What  is  still  more  certain,  and  what  is  especially  important 
to  us  to-day,  is  that,  beautiful  or  ugly,  nature  is  not  "good"; 
and  I  scarcely  need  to  maintain  this  point,  since  the  Schopen- 
hauers,  the  Darwins,  the  Vignys,  have  firmly  established  it. 
Do  not  let  us  needlessly  complicate  matters,  and  do  not  let  us 
embarrass  ourselves  with  metaphysical  complications.  If  the 
first  need  of  a  creature  is  "to  preserve  its  being,"  nature,  you 
know  well  enough,  has,  as  it  were,  surrounded  us  with  snares, 
and  we  cannot  make  a  movement  without  running  the  risk  of 
perishing  by  it.  Life  is  spent  in  learning  to  live,  and  no  sooner 
have  we  succeeded  in  it  than  we  die.  Does  the  living  console 
us,  and  can  we  say,  with  the  poet, 

"Mais  la  nature  est  la,  qui  invite  et  qui  t'aime 
Plonge-toi  dans  son  sein  qu'elle  t'ouvre  toujours"?  ^ 

Her  "bosom"  is  rather  a  stepmother's;  and  her  indiffer- 
ence to  us  is  equalled  only  by  her  lack  of  regard  for  all  that  we 
call  by  the  name  of  good  or  bad. 

"On  me  dit  une  mere  et  je  suis  une  tombe, 
Mon  hiver  prend  vos  morts  comme  son  hecatombe, 
Mon  printemps  ne  sent  pas  vos  adorations."  ^ 

Let  us  go  still  further,  gentlemen ;  nature  is  immoral,  thoroughly 
immoral,  I  may  say  immoral  to  such  a  degree  that  everything 
moral  is,  in  a  sense,  and  especially  in  its  origin,  in  its  first  prin- 
ciple, only  a  reaction  against  the  lessons  or  counsels  that  nature 
gives  us.^  V ilium  hominis,  natura  pecus,  I  believe  St.  Augus- 
tine has  said;  there  is  no  vice  of  which  nature  does  not  give  us 
the  example,  nor  any  virtue  from  which  she  does  not  dissuade 
us.  This  is  the  empire  of  brute  force  and  unchained  instincts, 
neither  moderation  nor  shame,  neither  pity  nor  compassion, 
neither  charity  nor  justice;  all  species  are  armed  against  one 
another,  in  muua  junera;  all  passions  aroused,  every  individual 
ready  to  oppose  every  other — that  is  the  spectacle  that  nature 
offers  us;  and  if  we  imitate  it,  who  does  not  see  and  who  does 

1  "But  nature  is  ever  there,  inviting  thee  and  loving  thee;  plunge 
into  her  bosom,  ever  open  for  thee. " 

2 "They  call  me  a  mother,  and  I  am  a  tomb;  my  winter  takes  your 
dead  as  its  hecatomb ;  my  spring  does  not  listen  to  your  worships. 

3  1  have  tried  to  show  this  in  a  brochure,  "La  Moralite  de  la  Doc- 
trine Evolutive  " 

XVI  [  14  1 


ART   AND   MORALITY 

not  understand  what  humanity  would  become  in  so  doing? 
Plunge  us  into  nature!  Why,  gentlemen,  if  we  were  not 
careful,  that  would  be  to  plunge  us  into  animality;  and  that  is 
what  has  not  been  understood  by  certain  who  are  inviting  us 
to  take  "nature"  only  for  a  guide  in  all  things — that  they  were 
inviting  us  to  go  back  again  over  the  very  steps  of  history  and 
civilization.  We  have  become  men,  and  can  become  more  so 
each  day  only  by  detaching  ourselves  from  nature,  and  by  try- 
ing to  institute  in  the  midst  of  it  "  an  Empire  within  an  Empire." 

Shall  I  add  to  this  that  it  is  not  always  true?  That  is 
what  I  ought  to  do  if  I  keep  myself  narrowly  within  the  bounds 
of  my  subject.  Nature  has  its  failures,  it  has  its  exceptions,  it 
has  its  monstrosities.  If  we  are  to  attach  a  precise  meaning  to 
the  words,  which  will  make  us  understand,  it  is  not  "natural" 
to  be  bhnd  or  a  hunchback;  and  that  is  what  so  many  artists 
readily  forget.     They  also  forget  that 

"  Some  thoughts  may  be  too  strong  to  be  believed." 
We  see  examples  of  it  every  day.  Every  day  there  happens  the 
reality  that  resembles  a  fiction,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
fiction  that  one  would  take  for  a  reaHty.  It  is  even  a  common- 
place with  novehsts  to  say  that  they  invent  nothing  that  reality 
does  not  surpass.  .  .  .  But  all  these  considerations  are  purely 
aesthetic,  and  to-day  I  am  interested  in  the  relations  between 
morality  and  art. 

Now  you  see  that  ttiey  are  of  sucn  a  nature  that,  as  we  have 
just  now  seen,  immorality  may  be  engendered  in  the  very  seduc- 
tion of  the  form;  so  in  the  same  way  it  is  always  to  be  feared  lest 
it  may  also  result  from  a  too  faithful  imitation.  Examples  of 
this  are  innumerable  in  the  history  of  painting,  and  especially 
of  Hterature.  But,  as  I  should  compromise  myself  if  I  here 
invoked  the  memory  of  the  "Tales"  of  La  Fontaine,  or  of  his 
"Fables,"  it  is  the  author  of  "Andromaque"  and  of  "Bajazet" 
that  I  shall  ask  to  offer  me  his  repentance.  For,  indeed,  when 
this  great  man;  in  the  maturity  of  life  and  genius,  not  yet  having 
reached  forty— that  is,  the  age  at  which  Moliere  had  just  begun 
to  write' — abandoned  the  stage,  what  sentiments  do  you  think 

1  Racine,  born  1639,  renounced  the  stage,  1677.  Moliere,  born 
1622,  presented  the  "Precieuses  Ridicules,"  1659. 

XVI  [15] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

dictated  his  conduct  ?  He  was  afraid  of  himself,  afraid  of  the 
truth  of  the  paintings  he  had  made;  of  the  terrible  fidelity  with 
which  he  had  rendered  what  is  most  natural  in  the  passions; 
of  the  justification  that  he  had  found  for  their  excess  in  their 
conformity  to  instinct;  and  that  is  why  from  that  moment  his 
life  was  nothing  but  one  long  expiation  for  the  errors  of  his 
genius.  Let  us  regret  it  if  we  will!  But  let  us  not  have  minds 
so  narrow  as  to  be  astonished  at  it;  nor  especially  to  blame  the 
poet  for  it ;  and  let  us  consider  that  at  this  very  moment  there  is 
an  example  of  this  very  thing  in  him  who  was  in  his  hour  the  il- 
lustrious novehst  of  "  War  and  Peace,"  and  of  "Anna  Karenina." 
You  will  find  the  proof  of  this  in  the  work  "What  is  Art?"  in 
which  he  wages  the  same  warfare  as  I  do  to-day — and  if  this 
endeavor  appears  only  ordinary  in  a  critic,  or  in  a  historian  of 
ideas,  so  much  the  worse  for  those  who  did  not  understand  how 
heroic  it  is  in  a  novelist. 

In  that  work  he  brings  to  light  a  final  cause  of  that  im- 
morality which  we  can  look  upon  as  inherent  in  the  very  prin- 
ciple of  art.  I  mean  a  condition  which  seems  to  be  imposed 
on  the  artist,  and  which  consists,  in  order  to  assure  his  origi- 
nality, not  precisely  in  his  cutting  himself  off  from  the  society 
of  other  men,  and  shutting  himself  in  his  "ivory  tower,"  but 
in  his  distinguishing  himself  from  the  crowd.  La  Bruyere  has 
excellently  said,  "If  we  always  listened  to  criticism  there  is 
not  a  work  that  would  not  be  completely  founded  on  it " ;  and 
he  was  right.  Painter,  poet,  sculptor,  or  musician,  if  the  origi- 
nality of  the  artist  is  to  feel,  by  the  same  things,  sensations 
different  from  other  men,  it  would  seem  that  one  of  his  cares 
should  be  not  to  let  them  in  any  way  become  "banal,"  and 
consequently  it  would  seem  that  this  right  of  separation  from 
the  crowd  cannot  be  denied  him.  But  to  what  dangers  at  all 
times,  and  especially  at  a  time  hke  ours,  does  not  the  applica- 
tion of  this  principle  lead  ? 

By  it,  humanity  is  divided  into  two  kinds  of  men:  "Artists," 
who  make  art,  and  the  " PhiHstines,"  the  "Bourgeois,"  who  do 
not  make  it,  or  who  do  not  understand  it  as  the  "artists"  do, 
or  who  do  not  like  the  same  art  as  they.  In  this  connection, 
recall  Flaubert  in  his  "Correspondence,"  or  the  Gcncourts  in 
XVI  [  i6  ] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

their  "Journal."  It  has  been  said,  and  I  hasten  to  subscribe 
to  it,  "What  love,  what  passion,  what  rehgion  for  their  art!" 
And,  in  truth,  that  is  admirable!  But  also  what  ignorance, 
what  thoughtlessness  for  all  that  is  not  art  and  their  art ;  what 
scorn  of  their  contemporaries,  of  the  "Messrs.  Dumas,  Augier, 
Feuillet,"  of  all  the  novels  that  are  not  "Madame  Bovary,"  of 
all  the  comedies  that  are  not  "Henriette  Mar^chal"!  Evi- 
dently all  of  us — we  who  beheve  that  there  may  be  something 
else  in  life  than  art — in  their  eyes  we  are  all  only  simple  Bouvards 
or  frightful  Peceuchets.  We  are  the  crowd,  and  the  crowd  is 
always  to  be  despised. 

"I  beheve  that  the  crowd,  the  flock,  will  always  De  nateiui. 
In  so  far  as  the  people  do  not  bow  before  the  mandarins,  in  so  far 
as  the  Academy  of  Sciences  will  not  take  the  place  of  the  Pope, 
society  to  its  very  roots  will  be  only  a  lot  of  sickenin  ghumbugs." 

I  do  not  stop  over  the  strangeness  of  the  phrase — which 
would  be  worthy  of  a  place  on  the  wall  of  the  editor's  office — 
but  you  see  the  sentiment!  I  do  not  even  reply  that  if  it  is  by 
works  that  we  must  ultimately  test  doctrines,  we  can  conceive 
of  a  more  useful  employment  in  hfe  than  writing  "Paradise 
Artiliciel,"  "Tentations  de  Saint -Antoine,"  "Faustin, "  and 
"Fille  Elsa."  But  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  whether  the  con- 
sequence of  the  doctrine  is  not  to  make  art  consist  in  what  is 
most  inhuman  and  most  foreign  to  our  occupations,  our  cares, 
our  anxieties ! 

Not  that  for  this  reason  the  authors  repel  praises  or  ad- 
miration. "Money  is  always  good,"  said  an  Emperor;  and 
our  "Artists"  think  that  from  whatever  hand  it  may  come, 
admiration  is  always  good  to  take  and  to  retain  if  possible. 
Only,  if,  in  the  midst  of  these  praises,  any  misunderstanding 
arises  between  the  artist  and  the  public,  it  is  always  the  pubhc 
that  is  in  the  wrong ;  and  let  us  render  this  justice  to  the  artists ; 
they  think  it  a  matter  of  honor  to  aggravate  the  misunder- 
standing. Ah,  but  we  are  reproached  for  our  harshness  of 
manner !  Well,  we  will  be  ^till  more  harsh,  and  we  will  elevate 
our  very  lack  of  feeling  into  a  principle  of  art.  Ah,  but  we  are 
told  that  they  claim  from  us  emotion  and  fecHng!  Well,  then 
we  will  take  shelter  in  our  indifference  and  coldness!  What 
XVI  [  17  ] 


ART   AND   MORALITY 

do  we  care  for  the  miseries  of  humanity!  "The  crowd  is  ahvays 
hateful!"  We  are  the  mandarins,  before  whom  you  must  bow! 
To  others  the  business  of  justice  and  charity!  As  for  us,  we 
are  busy  with  art;  that  is,  we  are  pounding  colors  and  we  are 
cadencing  phrases.  We  are  noting  sensations,  and  we  are  pro- 
ducing artificial  ones  to  note!  We  are  doing  "artistic  writing," 
and  if  we  are  not  admired  it  is  so  much  the  worse  for  our  con- 
temporaries! But  it  is  all  the  better  for  us,  for  he  who  does 
not  understand  us  judges  himself;  and  the  incomprehensi- 
bility of  our  invention  is  simply  a  proof  of  our  superiority.  It 
pleases  us  to  be  misunderstood. 

Thus  it  is  that  people  bury  themselves  in  a  proud  self- 
satisfaction;  and  that  would  not  matter  if  it  did  not  entail  the 
monopoHzing  of  the  attention  by  a  coterie!  But  what  I  hate 
about  these  paradoxes — and  without  taking  into  account  the 
fact  that  they  do  nothing  less  than  cut  art  off  from  its  com- 
munications with  life — is  that  they  are  eminently  and  insolently 
aristocratic.  A  little  indulgence,  O  great  artists,  and  permit 
us  to  be  men!  Yes,  permit  us  to  beheve  that  there  is  some- 
thing else  in  the  world  as  important  as  pounding  colors  or 
cadencing  phrases!  Do  not  imagine  that  we  are  made  for  you, 
and  that  for  six  thousand  years  humanity  has  travailed,  has 
labored,  has  suffered,  only  to  establish  your  mandarinate.  We 
could  do  without  you  m^uch  more  easily  than  without  many  other 
things!  And  you  yourselves,  after  all,  how,  on  what,  in  what 
conditions  would  you  live  if  the  incessant  toil  of  these  Bouvards, 
whom  you  despise,  and  of  these  Peceuchets,  for  whom  you  have 
nothing  but  ironies  sufficiently  cruel,  did  not  assure  you  the 
security  of  your  leisure,  the  peace  of  your  meditations,  a  public 
to  admire  you,  and,  I  may  even  say,  your  daily  bread  ? 

Ill 

Whither  does  this  discourse  tend,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and 
what  are  the  conclusions  I  wish  to  draw  from  it  ?  That  art,  as 
has  been  said  of  love,  is  mixed,  especially  in  our  time,  "with  a 
host  of  things  with  which  it  has  no  more  to  do  than  the  Doge 
has  with  what  is  done  in  Venice."  Of  course,  and,  for  that 
matter,  nothing  need  hinder  a  picture  dealer  or  a  book  pub- 
XVI  [i8] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

lishcr  from  being  a  true  ''artist."  That  has  been  seen  more 
than  once  in  history.  The  studio  of  more  than  one  great  painter 
in  Italy  or  in  Flanders  has  often  been  nothing  more  than  a 
manufactory  of  cartoons  or  of  canvases,  and  two  of  the  rare 
surviving  works  of  our  eighteenth  century,  "Manon  Lescaut" 
and  "  Gil  Bias,"  were,  as  was  then  said,  made  for  the  pubhsher. 
No,  it  is  not  the  love  of  lucre  that  is  the  worst  enemy  of  art. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  do  not  mean,  either,  that  the  artist 
or  the  writer  ought  to  metamorphose  themselves  into  moral 
preachers.  There  are  sermonizers  and  moraHsts  for  that,  whose 
purpose  or  trade  it  is.  Whatever  admiration  I  have  for  Richard- 
son, that  is  what  prevents  me  from  speaking  of  "Clarissa  Har- 
lowe"  with  the  declamatory  enthusiasm  of  Diderot,  and  still 
more  from  daring  to  place  his  "Pamela"  or  his  "Grandison" 
so  high  in  the  history  of  art  as  you  have  seen  that  Taine  has 
placed  them.     We  must  try  not  to  confuse  anything ! 

But,  as  I  have  tried  to  show  you,  if  every  form  of  art,  so  far 
as  it  is  a  pleasure  of  the  senses,  and  in  so  far  as  it  is  an  imitation 
and  consequently  an  apology  for  nature,  and,  again,  in  so  far 
as  it  develops  in  the  artist  this  ferment  of  egotism  which  is  a 
part  of  his  individuaHty — if  every  form  of  art,  when  thus  left  to 
itself,  runs  the  inevitable  risk  of  "demoralizing"  or  of  "de- 
humanizing" a  soul,  then  we  must  premise,  in  the  first  place, 
that  art  has  not  all  the  liberties.  "Stop,  my  child,"  said  Mon- 
tesquieu to  his  daughter,  w^hom  he  found  reading  the  "Persian 
Letters,"  "stop;  that  is  a  book  of  my  youth  that  is  not  made  for 
yours";  and  I  have  told  you  that  in  my  opinion  it  was  not  to 
become  a  convert  that  Racine  abandoned  the  theatre,  but  that 
he  believed  he  ought  to  become  a  convert  because  he  had  written 
plays,  or  rather  because  he  was  the  creator  of  his  plays,  the 
father  of  Hermione,  of  Roxane,  and  of  Phedre.  As  for  the  aged 
Corneille,  he  did  not  feel  the  need  of  becoming  a  convert.  Why 
so?  For  a  very  simple  and  sufficiently  evident  reason!  Be- 
cause in  his  old  age,  as  in  the  morning  of  his  glory,  he  was  con- 
vinced that  Rodrigue  had  done  right  in  avenging  Don  Diegue's 
honor;  that  Horace  was  excusable  for  having  hurled  in  Ca- 
mille's  teeth  the  curses  she  spewed  forth  against  Rome;  that 
Polyeucte  was  to  be  praised  for  having  overthrown  the  idols, 
XVI  [  19  ] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

and  for  having  preferred  the  conversion  of  PauHna  to  the  tran- 
quiUity  of  their  amours.  He  did  not  become  a  convert,  because 
he  beheved  that  he  never  excited  other  than  generous  and  noble 
passions,  even  if  he  thought  more  than  once  of  depicting  base 
or  sanguinary  ones.  He  did  not  become  a  convert,  because, 
as  Taine  told  you  just  now,  he  beheved  that  he,  "whose  hand 
had  sketched  the  soul  of  the  great  Pompey,"  worked  only  for 
the  exaltation  of  the  ''Will";  and  of  all  the  human  faculties, 
will,  real  will,  is  at  once  the  rarest  of  things,  and  the  thing  of 
which  men  have  always  thought  the  most,  first,  because  it  is 
the  rarest,  and  then  because  it  is  the  real  cause  of  personal  and 
social  progress. 

This  is  the  same  thing  as  saying,  in  the  second  place,  that  if 
the  end  of  art  is  not  to  move  the  passions  or  to  tickle  the  senses, 
neither  can  it  be  complete,  and  narrow  itself  in  any  way  within 
itself.  There  are  several  ways  of  interpreting  the  theory  of 
"art  for  art's  sake,"  and  on  this  point,  as  on  all,  it  is  only  a 
matter  of  coming  to  an  agreement;  and  unfortunately  that  is 
most  frequently  what  people  do  not  want  to  do.  But  if  the 
theory  of  "art  for  art's  sake"  consists  in  seeing  in  art  only  art 
itself,  I  know  of  nothing  more  false,  and  I  have  tried  to  tell  you 
why.  Art  has  its  object  and  its  end  outside  of  and  beyond 
itself ;  and  if  that  object  is  not  exactly  moral,  it  is  social,  which, 
for  that  matter,  is  the  same  thing.  Whether  we  are  painters  or 
poets,  we  are  not  allowed  to  forget  that  we  are  men;  and  in 
return  for  the  society  of  men  we  must  give  the  means  of  propa- 
ganda or  of  action,  which  we  hold  from  them  alone.  Do  you 
remember  in  this  connection,  or  do  you  know,  that  page  of 
Alexandre  Dumas?  I  say  "do  you  know";  for  you  will  not 
find  it  in  all  the  editions  of  his  plays,  but  only  in  that  which  is 
called  the  "  Edition  des  Comediens  " : 

"What  has  made  the  dramatic  poets  great,  what  has  most 
ennobled  the  stage,  are  the  subjects  which  at  first  sight  seemed 
absolutely  incompatible  with  the  habits  of  the  stage  or  of  the 
pubHc.  Thus  we  cannot  be  told,  'Stop  here  or  there.'  All 
that  is  man  and  woman  belongs  to  us,  not  only  in  the  relations 
of  these  two  creatures  between  themselves  by  the  sentiments 
and  the  passions,  but  in  their  isolated  or  collective  relations 
XVI  [  20  ] 


ART   AND   MORALITY 

with  all  kinds  of  occurrences,  of  customs,  of  ideas,  of  powers, 
of  social,  moral,  political,  and  religious  laws,  which,  in  turn, 
produce  their  action  on  them." 

That,  certainly,  might  be  better  said ;  and  I  sometimes  fear, 
gentlemen,  that,  one  or  two  pieces  aside,  imperfection  of  form 
will  draw  the  drama  of  Alexandre  Dumas  into  oblivion;  but 
you  understand  sufficiently  well  what  he  means,  and  I  assent  to 
it  entirely.  Art  has  a  social  function,  and  its  true  morahty  is 
the  conscientiousness  with  which  it  discharges  this  function. 

You  will  tell  me  that  this  formula  is  vague,  and  I  acknowl- 
edge it.  If  it  were  not  vague,  if  it  had  the  precision  of  a  geo- 
metrical formula  or  of  a  medical  prescription  (are  medical  pre- 
scriptions so  very  precise  ?)  we  should  no  longer  be  dealing  with 
art,  or  criticism,  or  history,  but  with  science.  Let  us  leave 
the  learned  in  their  laboratories,  and  let  us  not  imagine  that  we 
can  find  the  secret  of  genius  or  moral  law  in  the  bottom  of  a 
retort.  But  for  that,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  must  give  me 
your  attention  for  a  moment  longer. 

There  is  scarcely  any  doctrine  more  widely  diffused  among 
us  than  that  of  '^the  relativity  of  knowledge."  But  what  ex- 
actly does  it  mean?  That  is  what  many  people  do  not  seem 
to  know  who  none  the  less  profess  belief  in  it ;  and  you  see  how 
it  can  be  reclothed  with  meaning. 

To  say  that  everything  is  relative  may  mean  that  nothing 
is  false  and  nothing  is  true,  but  everything  is  possible;  every- 
thing therefore  is  probable;  and  each  of  us  becomes  "the 
measure  of  all  things,"  as  the  ancient  sophist  taught ;  all  opinions 
have  worth,  and  the  only  difference  between  them  is  the  manner 
of  expressing  them.  I  do  not  pause,  gentlemen,  over  this  in- 
terpretation. 

But  in  the  second  place,  to  say  that  everything  is  relative 
may  mean  that  everything  depends,  not  only  for  each  of  us 
individually,  but  for  man  in  general,  the  species,  on  the  con- 
stitution of  its  organs,  and  that,  if  we  had  our  cranium  made 
otherwise,  or  if  we  had  six  senses,  for  example,  in  place  of  five, 
or  four  dimensions  in  place  of  three,  the  universe  would  appear 
to  us  under  an  aspect  entirely  different  from  that  which  we 
know.  Bodies  would  be  revealed  to  us  by  other  qualities;  v/e 
XVI  [21  ] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

should  perceive  in  them  what  we  do  not  now  perceive,  unknown 
forms  and  nameless  colors.  It  is  very  possible  and  I  readily 
believe  it!  But  I  know  nothing  about  it,  nor  does  any  one  else; 
and  besides  it  does  not  matter.  If  in  another  planet  bodies 
have  n  plus  i  dimensions  instead  of  three,  how  can  that  affect 
us  as  long  as  we  know  nothing  about  it,  and  when  there  are 
only  three  on  this  earth?  What  does  it  matter  to  us  that  the 
color  of  the  flower  or  the  taste  of  the  fruit  is  in  our  eye,  or  in 
our  palate,  provided  that  the  rose  is  always  red  and  the  orange 
is  always  scented  ?  Do  you  feel  yourselves  humihated  or  cha- 
grined by  it  ? 

But  there  is  a  third  way  of  understanding  the  relativity  of 
knowledge,  and  the  best,  which  is — as  Pascal  said,  and  also 
both  Comte  and  Kant — that  "  all  things  being  causes  and  caused, 
aiding  and  aided,"  a  thing  can  be  exactly  defined  only  by  its 
relations  to  another  thing.  Each  of  you  is  seated  in  his  place 
in  this  room.  But  how  can  I  give  an  idea  of  it  to  any  one  out- 
side? That  will  be  done  only  in  beginning  by  describing  the 
arrangement  of  the  room,  of  the  seats,  my  situation,  the  left 
chair,  the  right  chair,  that  at  the  back,  that  at  the  front,  and 
ten,  twenty,  other  details.  In  other  words,  every  object  is  rela- 
tive to  an  infinity  of  others  with  which  it  stands  in  relations 
more  or  less  constant,  and  moreover,  according  to  their  nature, 
more  or  less  complex  to  determine.  Or,  again,  and  in  general 
philosophical  terms  if  you  wish,  everything  is  entangled  in  a 
system  of  relations  from  which  its  character  results;  and  that 
is  what  Pascal  meant  when  he  added  to  the  other  part  of  the 
phrase  which  I  have  just  recalled  to  you:  "I  hold  it  impossible 
to  know  the  parts  without  knowing  the  whole,  as  it  is  to  know 
the  whole  without  knowing  the  parts."  If  we  knew  only  Ra- 
cine's "■  Thebaide,"  just  think  what  a  strange  idea  we  should  have 
of  his  genius;  and  how  badly  we  should  know  it  if  we  did  not 
know  who  preceded  and  followed  him!  A  certain  knowledge 
of  the  ''Cid"  and  of  "Polyeucte"  thus  forms  a  part  of  the  very 
definition  of  "Andromaque"  or  of  "Phedre,"  and  that  defini- 
tion, in  turn,  needs  to  be  completed  by  some  knowledge  of 
"Zaire"  and  of  ''Merope."  We  know  Racine  truly  only  when 
we  know  him  in  his  relation  to  Voltaire  and  Corneille,  and  all 

XVI  [  22  ] 


ART  AND   MORALITY 

these  in  their  relation  to  Shakespeare  or  to  Euripides,  and  all 
in  relation  to  a  certain  idea  of  tragedy,  which  still  other  relations 
determine. 

If  we  put  ourselves  at  this  point  of  view,  we  perceive,  gentle- 
men, that  the  definition  of  art  is  thus  relative  to  the  definition 
of  other  social  functions,  to  which  it  holds,  or  ought  to  hold, 
determinate  relations;  or  if  you  prefer,  it  appears  that,  like 
rehgion,  Hke  science,  like  tradition,  art  is  a  force,  the  use  of 
which  cannot  be  regulated  by  itself  and  by  itself  alone.  These 
forces  must  be  balanced  among  themselves  in  a  well-ordered 
society;  and  none  among  them  can  establish  its  absolute  domi- 
nation over  the  others  without  harm,  and  sometimes  disaster, 
resulting  therefrom.  If  it  is  rehgion  that  gains  the  day  and 
subordinates  tradition,  science,  and  art,  the  history  of  the  Papacy 
of  the  middle  ages  is  there  to  tell  us  of  the  grandeurs,  but  also 
of  the  dangers  of  theocracy.  If  it  is  tradition,  custom,  super- 
stitious respect  for  the  past,  which  make  themselves  masters  of 
consciences,  and  consequently  of  actions,  it  seems  to  me — I 
dare  not  say  more — but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  example  of 
China  emerges  from  the  shade  at  this  moment  to  teach  us, 
with  its  advantages  of  stability,  the  dangers  of  immobihty.  If 
art  in  its  turn  seizes  the  entire  life,  in  order  to  govern  it,  it  may 
indeed  flatter  the  imagination  of  some  dilettantes;  but  we  have 
looked  closely  at  this  matter  just  now,  and  the  Italy  of  the  Renais- 
sance, to  which  I  can  add  the  Greece  of  the  decadence,  is  there 
to  prove  to  us  that  the  danger  is  not  any  less.  I  would  say  freely 
it  is  greater  still,  or  as  great,  when  we  give  over,  as  has  been 
tried  in  our  days,  to  positive  and  experimental  science  the  work 
of  directing  or  ordering  existence.  On  the  contrary,  gentlemen, 
the  great  epochs  of  history  are  precisely  those  in  which  these 
forces  have  been  placed  in  equiHbrium — and  such  have  been, 
in  France  chiefly — the  great  years  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
or  the  early  years  of  our  own. 

Does  the  realization  of  that  equihbrium  depend  on  the  will 
of  men?  And  are  we  able  at  every  moment  of  the  period  to 
prevent  one  of  the  forces  from  advancing  in  excess  of  the  other  ? 
For  my  part,  gentlemen,  I  beheve  we  can.  I  beheve  that,  if 
we  wish,  we  can  maintain  the  authority  of  tradition  against  the 

XVI  [  2,3  ] 


ART  AND  MORALITY 

craze  of  novelty.  I  believe  that  it  depends  only  on  ourselves 
to  prevent  even  religion  from  encroaching  on  the  hberty  of 
scientific  research.  I  beheve  that  we  can  stem,  check,  prevent 
science  from  overstepping  the  Hmits  of  its  own  domain.  And 
I  also  believe  that— just  as  science  is  characterized  by  a  sort 
of  moral  indifferentism/  so  art,  as  I  have  tried  to  show  you,  is 
characterized  on  its  part  by  an  unconscious  tendency  to  im- 
morahty— we  can,  if  we  will,  annul  these  effects,  not  only  with- 
out harming  it,  but  in  directing  it  to  its  proper  object.     But 

will  would  be  needed;  and  unhappily  we  Hve  in  a  time  when 

to  give  meaning  to  an  old  distinction  that  might  be  thought 
very  subtle  and  very  vain  and  which  profound  philosophers 
have  denied— the  failure,  or  rather  the  enfeeblement,  of  the 
will  has  perhaps  no  equal  except  in  the  increasing  intensity 
of  the  desires. 

^See   the   brochures:    "Science  et  Religion,"     "Education  et  In- 
struction," and  "La  Morality  de  la  Doctrine  Evolutive." 


XVI  [24] 


XVII 

WOMAN 

MARRIAGE  CUSTOMS  AND  THEIR  MORAL  VALUE  ^ 

BY 

ELIZABETH  S.  DIACK 

AND 

WILLIAM  LILLY 

SECRETARY    OF    THE     CATHOLIC  UNION  OF  GREAT  BRJ^AIN 


f^LOSE  allied  to  the  question  oj  morality  in  general,  comes 
^  the  question  of  woman  in  her  relation  to  life  and  to  man. 
We  face  the  narrower  problem  first,  her  relation  to  the  man.  For 
historic  information  our  readiest  appeal  is  to  the  well-known 
English  authoress  upon  the  subject,  Elizabeth  Stitchell  Diack. 
She  outlines  for  us  "the  woman  of  the  past''  as  her  confrere,  Air. 
Robinson,  has  outlined  the  man.  Aiming  then  to  carry  our  study 
up  to  the  present  day,  we  present  briefly  the  thought  of  Mr.  Lilly, 
The  Hon.  William  S.  Lilly,  M.A.,  J. P.,  is  a  Roman  Catholic; 
in  fact  his  long  service  as  secretary  to  the  Catholic  Union  of  Great 
Britain,  a  post  which  he  has  held  since  1874,  enables  him  in 
some  sort  to  speak  officially  for  the  Catholics  of  England,  as  Car- 
dinal Gibbons  has  already  spoken  to  us  for  those  of  America. 
Moreover,  it  is  well  that  on  this  serious  question  of  marriage 
we  should  listen  to  the  views  of  the  Catholic  body  among  our 
contemporaries. 

Matrimony,  once  apparently  the  most  firmly  established  and 
settled  of  human  institutions,  begins  in  these  inquisitive  and 
skeptic  days  to  find  itself  no  longer  unquestioned.  Its  security 
is  assailed;  its  wisdom  is  doubted;  7iay,  its  very  morality  is  held 
open  to  dispute.  Trial  marriages  and  'Hen-year  periods''  are 
discussed  with  an  openness  that  a  single  decade  ago  would  have 
been  impossible. 

xvn  [i] 


WOMAN 

Under  these  circumstances  the  Catholic  Church  should  have 
a  hearing;  jor  it  is  an  established  jact  that  during  many  cen- 
turies that  church  has  been  the  most  emphatic  and  insistent  oj 
the  opponents  oj  divorce.  In  reading  Mr.  Lillys  presentation 
oj  the  moral  aspects  oj  the  question^  it  were  well  also  to  turn  back 
(address  IX)  and  note  how  these  are  reinjorced  by  Mr.  Wallace's 
analysis  oj  the  same  subject  jrom  its  scientific  side. 

Among  the  primitive  nations  of  the  world  woman  was' com- 
monly regarded  as  a  chattel  or  slave — a  creature  existing  and 
originally  created  merely  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  man.  The 
Egyptians  alone  treated  her  with  respect  and  consideration. 

In  Ancient  Egypt  monogamy  was  practised,  although  it  was 
not  enjoined  by  law.  There  is  no  evidence  of  the  existence  of  a 
marriage  ceremony,  but  the  marriage  contract  secured  to  the 
wife  certain  rights,  one  of  which  was  that  of  complete  control 
over  her  husband,  who  promised  to  yield  her  imphcit  obedience ! 
Nearness  of  relationship  was  no  barrier  to  wedlock,  the  union 
of  brother  with  sister  being  quite  common. 

Women,  both  married  and  unmarried,  participated  with  the 
men  in  all  the  pleasures  of  social  intercourse.  They  took  part 
in  the  pubhc  festivals,  shared  in  banquets,  drove  out  in  their 
chariots,  and  made  pleasure  excursions  on  the  Nile.  At  ban- 
quets the  guests  were  entertained  chiefly  with  music  and  dancing. 
Singing  was  also  an  esteemed  accomphshment,  and  the  more 
soHd  part  of  their  education  must  have  been  attended  to,  as 
women  often  held  important  offices  in  the  priesthood.  They 
presided  at  birth  and  officiated  as  mourners  at  death  and  burial. 

Ladies  of  rank  occupied  their  spare  moments  in  embroidery 
and  in  the  cultivation  of  flowers,  of  which  they  were  passionately 
fond,  and  which  were  lavishly  used  on  all  festive  occasions. 
Women  of  the  humbler  classes  were  employed  in  spinning,  and 
in  the  rural  districts  in  tending  cattle  and  sheep,  and  in  carrying 
water — the  heavier  employments  being  left  to  the  men. 

This  halcyon  state  of  affairs  lasted  only  during  the  days  of 
Egypt's  greatness ;  during  the  period  of  her  decline  her  daughters 
were  fearfully  downtrodden  and  degraded.  The  hardest  man- 
ual labor  was  assigned  to  them,  and  they  suffered  cruel  punish- 
ments for  the  crimes  of  their  fathers,  husbands,  or  brothers, 
xvit  [  2  ] 


WOMAN 

as  the  case  might  be.  Sometimes  they  were  pubHcly  beaten 
with  sticks,  at  others  thrown  into  dungeons  or  sent  to  work  at 
the  mines,  where  the  miseries  they  endured  were  so  great  that, 
as  the  old  historian  tells  us,  they  longed  for  death  as  far  prefer- 
able to  life. 

In  Babylonia,  and  also  in  Persia,  woman  was  a  mere  chattel 
of  man.  She  had  no  rights,  and  was  supposed  to  have  no  feel- 
ings. Assyrian  maidens  had  no  voice  in  the  disposal  of  them- 
selves in  marriage.  Those  of  marriageable  age  were  once  a 
year  collected  and  brought  together  into  one  place,  there  to  be 
sold  to  the  highest  bidders.  The  most  beautiful  were  offered 
for  sale  first,  and  these  were  eagerly  competed  for  by  the  wealthy 
men  of  the  community  desirous  of  marrying.  With  the  money 
obtained  for  the  beauties,  the  plain  and  deformed  ones  were 
dowered,  so  that  they,  too,  might  obtain  husbands,  they  being 
given  to  the  men  who  offered  to  take  the  smallest  sums.  Each 
purchaser  was  obHged  to  give  security  for  the  due  fulfilment 
of  the  marriage  contract — marriage  being  a  condition  of  pur- 
chase— and  for  the  public  acknowledgment  of  his  newly  ac- 
quired wife.  If  a  pair  found  on  coming  together  that  they 
could  not  Hve  amicably  the  husband  could  return  his  purchase 
and  receive  back  his  money,  but  the  wife  who  repudiated  her 
husband  was  condemned  to  be  drowned.  Womanly  purity  was 
discountenanced  by  the  Babylonians,  and  woman's  life  was  held 
in  light  esteem.  During  a  period  of  revolt  thousands  of  women 
were  massacred  by  their  own  nearest  relatives,  merely  to  save 
the  provisions  which  otherwise  they  would  have  required. 

In  Ancient  Greece  the  position  of  woman  varied  in  the 
different  eras  and  in  the  different  states.  In  the  renowned 
State  of  Sparta  women  were  regarded  as  instruments  for  the 
production  of  strong,  robust  citizens  for  the  State,  and  great 
care  was  taken  that  they  should  be  well  developed  physically. 
They  were  from  their  earHest  youth  allowed  the  utmost  hberty, 
and  were  exercised  in  running,  wrestling,  and  boxing,  accom- 
pHshments  which  they  displayed  in  the  pubHc  games  at  the 
theatre.  Scantily  clad,  so  as  to  allow  perfect  freedom  of  mo- 
tion, and  crowned  with  flowers,  they  also  took  part  in  the  relig- 
ious ceremonies,  and  sang  and  danced  at  the  national  festivals. 
On  ordinary,  as  on  festive  occasions,  the  dress  of  the  Spartan 
XVII  [  3  ] 


WOMAN 

women  was  of  the  simplest  description.  A  woollen  robe  loose 
at  one  side,  and  fastening  with  clasps  over  the  shoulder,  was 
the  attire  of  maidens,  while  married  women  wore  also  an 
upper  garment  and  a  veil.  The  wearing  of  embroidery,  gold, 
and  precious  stones  was  restricted  to  prostitutes. 

When  they  married,  which,  according  to  Plutarch,  was  not 
till  they  had  arrived  at  maturity,  they  were  always  well  dowered. 
We  are  told  by  the  same  writer  that  the  Spartan  bride  was 
dressed  "in  man's  clothes,"  and  had  her  hair  "cut  close  to  the 
skin."  Her  troth  was  plighted,  not  to  her  husband,  but  to  the 
State,  and  patriotism  secm.s  to  have  been  a  leading  sentiment 
in  her  bosom.  For  some  time  after  her  marriage  the  wife  con- 
tinued to  reside  with  her  parents,  seeing  her  husband  but  occa- 
sionally, by  stealth,  and  disguised  in  masculine  apparel.  Spe- 
cially beautiful  women  were  allowed  to  have  several  husbands, 
and  so  Hghtly  was  the  marriage  tie  regarded  that  a  man  could, 
if  he  chose,  give  av/ay  his  wife  without  any  legal  process 
whatever.  Indeed,  it  was  considered  rather  a  meritorious 
action  for  him  to  do  so.  Heiresses  were  at  the  disposal  of 
the  king,  who,  without  consulting  either  themselves  or  their 
parents,  bestowed  them  upon  the  poorest  citizens,  that  the 
wealth  of  the  nation  might  be  equally  distributed  among  all 
classes. 

During  the  frequent  absences  of  their  warHke  lords  the 
Spartan  women  had  entire  control  of  their  households  and 
their  affairs.  So  much  power  did  they  enjoy  in  comparison 
with  other  women  of  the  time,  that  a  foreign  lady  o^  one  occa- 
sion said  to  Gorgo,  the  wife  of  Lconidas,  "You  of  Laccdcemon 
are  the  only  women  in  the  worid  that  rule  the  men,"  whereat 
the  Spartan  quickly  retorted,  "We  are  the  only  women  that 
bring  forth  men." 

In  other  parts  of  Greece  women  led  lives  of  strict  seclusion. 
They  seem  to  have  scarcely  been  allowed  to  leave  their  own 
apartments,  which  were  always  situated  in  the  back,  and  com- 
monly in  the  upper  part  of  the  house,  so  as  to  insure  the  utmost 
privacy.  Young  girls  had  to  ask  permission  to  go  from  one 
part  of  the  house  to  anothe:-,  and  the  reputation  of  a  newly 
married  woman  was  in  danger  if  she  were  seen  out  of  doors. 
When  she  became  a  mother  she  enjoyed  a  little  more  freedom, 
xvn  [4] 


WOMAN 

though  only  during  her  husband's  pleasure,  for  those  of  a  jealous 
temperament  kept  their  wives  in  close  confinement.  By  the 
laws  of  Solon  women  were  prohibited  from  leaving  home  with 
more  than  three  changes  of  clothing  and  a  certain  allowance  of 
provisions,  or  a  basket  of  more  than  a  cubit's  length.  Neither 
were  they  permitted  to  appear  in  the  streets  at  night,  save  in  a 
chariot  and  preceded  by  torch-bearers.  It  is  said  that  those 
strict  laws  were  framed  in  order  to  check  the  depravity  of  the 
daughters  of  Athens,  but  it  was  not  only  to  the  peregrinations 
of  women  that  the  laws  of  the  great  Athenian  extended,  but  to 
all  the  details  of  daily  life,  including  even  eating  and  drinking. 

The  ordinary  employments  of  women,  apart  from  their 
domestic  duties,  were  spinning,  weaving,  embroidery,  and  other 
kinds  of  needlework.  Instruction  in  these  mechanical  arts 
seems  to  have  been  all  the  education  they  received — all  that 
was  considered  necessary  or  fitting  for  them.  "She  is  the  best 
woman,"  says  Thucydides,  "of  whom  least  is  said  either  of  good 
or  evil." 

An  orphan  heiress  was  compelled  by  law  to  marry  her  next- 
of  kin,  in  order  to  keep  the  property  in  the  family.  When, 
however,  she  had  married  prior  to  the  death  of  her  father,  she 
could,  at  his  decease,  be  taken  from  her  husband  and  given 
to  her  relative  along  with  her  estate,  the  bond  of  wedlock,  as 
in  Sparta,  being  somewhat  loosely  regarded  and  quite  easily 
dissolved. 

As  in  Sparta,  too,  a  man  could  give  away  his  wife  either  for 
a  time,  or  permanently,  as  he  desired.  It  was  by  no  means  the 
most  depraved  or  the  meanest  of  mankind  who  exercised  this 
strange  privilege,  Socrates  and  Pericles  being  among  the 
number. 

During  the  golden  age  of  Athens,  when  the  ashes  of  her 
illustrious  law-giver  had  long  been  at  rest  in  his  native  isle  (for 
Solon  was  an  Athenian  but  by  adoption),  the  daughters  of  the 
classic  city  enjoyed  more  freedom  than  they  had  done  in  earher 
days.  Husbands  when  they  went  from  home  often  took  their 
wives  along  with  them,  but  from  a  moral  point  of  view  it  was 
not  always  the  best  of  society  into  which  they  were  thus  intro- 
duced. The  house  of  the  celebrated  Aspasia,  the  mistress  of 
Pericles,  was  a  favorite  resort  of  even  the  wisest  and  highest 
XVII  [  5  ] 


WOMAN 

cultured  of  the  citizens  of  Athens.  This  remarkable  woman 
was  noted,  not  only  for  her  beauty,  but  for  her  talents,  and  for 
the  elevation  to  which  she  had  attained  in  learning.  The  un- 
fortunate class  to  which  she  belonged  was  then  the  only  class  of 
women  in  Athens  that  enjoyed  freedom  and  culture.  Whether 
from  a  desire  to  heighten  their  charms  by  means  of  a  knowledge 
of  "divine  philosophy,"  or  from  a  genuine  love  of  learning, 
many  of  them  frequented  the  schools  and  the  company  of  phi- 
losophers and  studied  mathematics  and  other  sciences.  Their 
personal  beauty  often  made  them  the  chosen  models  of  painters 
and  sculptors,  and  the  themes  of  licentious  poets,  and,  as  wc 
have  already  said,  Aspasia,  who  was  at  their  head,  wielded 
such  a  powerful  influence  over  even  their  best  and  wisest  men 
that  they  resorted  to  her  house  as  to  a  lecture-room,  accom- 
panied by  their  wives.  They  evidently  wished  the  latter  to 
profit  by  the  learned  and  brilliant  conversation  of  the  gifted 
courtesan,  who  at  least  had  taught  them  that  the  life  of  ignor- 
ance and  seclusion  to  which  they  doomed  their  women  was 
that  which  was  least  calculated  to  develop  their  mental  powers 
and  render  them  congenial  companions.  The  corrupt  condi- 
tion of  society,  however,  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that 
such  women  occupied  a  prominent,  almost  a  leading,  position  in 
it,  and,  indeed,  at  this  period,  the  golden  age  of  Grecian  art  and 
literature,  learning,  luxury,  and  vice  were  equally  dominant  in 
"the  eyes  and  hght  of  Greece,"  as  her  panegyrists  called  Athens. 
"In  the  brave  days  of  old"  the  Roman  patriarch  could, 
with  the  sanction  of  the  law,  throw  his  daughter  into  a  dungeon, 
deprive  her  of  food,  lash  her  with  the  scourge,  sell  her  as  a  slave, 
or  slay  her  with  the  sword.  When  she  married,  her  husband 
assumed  over  her  the  same  power.  She  could,  like  the  Grecian 
woman,  inherit  either  the  whole  or  a  part  of  her  father's  estate ; 
but  whatever  property  she  possessed,  or  whatever  right  of  in- 
heritance, was  at  marriage  passed  over  to  her  husband.  She 
could  be  divorced  for  drinking  wine,  or  even  for  having  in  her 
possession  the  keys  of  any  place  in  which  it  was  kept.  A  wife 
could,  however,  be  divorced  almost  at  pleasure,  provided  that 
her  dowry  was  returned  along  with  her.  For  a  considerable 
period  a  woman  was  forbidden  by  law  to  wear  a  garment  of 
various  colors,  to  have  personal  ornaments  weighing  more  than 
XVII  [  6  ] 


WOMAN 

half  an  ounce  of  gold,  and  to  drive  in  a  chariot  within  a  mile 
of  the  city.  In  those  early  days  the  women  were  employed  in 
cooking,  spinning,  weaving,  and  sewing. 

When  the  Romans  became  rich  in  the  usual  way,  by  plunder- 
ing their  neighbors,  the  laws  relative  to  woman's  dress  and 
recreation  were  repealed;  the  domestic  duties  were  relegated 
to  slaves,  and  the  Roman  matron  blossomed  into  a  lady  of 
fashion. 

There  were  "blue- stockings"  as  well  as  "belles,"  however, 
among  the  ladies  of  ancient  Rome.  The  speech  of  Hortensia 
against  the  unjust  taxation  of  women,  dehvered  before  the  three 
assassins  who  governed  Rome  during  the  second  triumvirate, 
is  mentioned  admiringly  by  Cicero,  and  her  courage  must  have 
been  as  great  as  her  eloquence,  since  no  man  could  be  found  to 
undertake  the  perilous  task.  In  another  of  ItaHa's  cities  it  is 
evident  that  the  "new  woman"  was  in  existence  at  a  very  early 
date.  One  of  the  inscriptions  found  among  the  ruins  of  Pom- 
peii shows  that  women  were  put  forward  by  women  as  candi- 
dates for  seats  on  the  board  of  magistrates,  but  whether  suc- 
cessful or  not  in  gaining  the  coveted  office  is  not  recorded. 
Honored,  however,  above  all  other  women  were  the  vestals,  to 
whose  care  were  committed  the  sacred  rehcs  upon  which  the 
safety  of  the  city  was  supposed  to  depend.  Often  they  were 
the  custodians  of  wills  and  other  important  documents,  and 
enjoyed  many  privileges  denied  to  ordinary  mortals. 

The  usual  accomplishments  of  the  Roman  maiden  were 
music  and  dancing.  During  the  Empire,  however,  ladies  were 
skilled  in  fencing,  boxing,  and  wresthng,  and  often  appeared  in 
the  amphitheatre  as  competitors  for  the  prize.  They  appeared 
there  more  frequently,  however,  as  spectators  of  the  bloody 
gladiatorial  combats  in  which  unfortunate  slaves,  unhappy  cap- 
tives, or  not  less  unhappy  criminals  were  butchered  to  make 
a  Roman  holiday.  Cruelty,  gluttony,  and  even  drunkenness 
had  become  prominent  traits  in  the  character  of  the  Roman 
lady  of  those  latter  days,  and  those  ugly  vices  are  apt  to  ob- 
scure the  virtues  of  the  simple  matrons,  the  pure-minded  Lu- 
cretias  of  early  Rome. 

Among  the  ancient  Germanic  tribes  women  were  regarded 
with  peculiar  reverence,  and  were  commonly  treated  as  the 
XVII  [  7  ] 


WOMAN 

equals,  sometimes  as  the  superiors,  of  men.  They  were  beheved 
to  be  recipients  of  messages  from  the  gods,  and,  Hke  the  rhap- 
sodists  of  Greece,  they  were  the  repositories  of  the  unwritten 
history  of  the  race,  the  reciters  of  the  poems  in  which  were 
commemorated  the  stories  of  the  tribal  heroes.  The  "wise 
women,"  who  were  carefully  set  apart  from  the  rest,  were  be- 
lieved to  be  endowed  with  the  power  of  lifting  the  veil  of  the 
future  and  learning  the  decrees  of  fate,  and  so  were  often  con- 
sulted as  oracles.  Others  were  supposed  to  be  gifted  with 
supernatural  powers,  because  of  their  allegiance  to  malignant 
divinities.  The  daughters  of  kings  and  princes  were  often 
priestesses,  but  what  were  their  official  duties  it  is  difficult  to 
say.  We  are  told  by  Tacitus  that  the  priests  settled  disputes, 
awarded  and  infficted  punishments,  and  attended  the  armies 
to  battle. 

Both  sexes  were  remarkable  for  their  conjugal  fidelity,  monog- 
amy being  practised  except  in  the  case  of  royalty,  the  posses- 
sion of  more  than  one  wife  being  a  purely  regal  privilege.  The 
marriage  ceremony  in  those  primitive  times  was  exceedingly 
simple,  consisting  chiefly  of  the  interchange  of  presents  in  the 
presence  of  the  friends  assembled  for  the  feast.  Says  Tacitus, 
"To  the  husband  the  wife  gives  no  dowry,  but  the  husband  to 
the  wife."  The  present  of  the  bride,  he  continues,  "consisted 
of  oxen,  horses,  and  arms  to  intimate  to  her  that  she  was  to 
share  in  the  toils  and  dangers  of  her  husband  as  well  as  in  his 
pleasures."  This  it  was  customary  for  her  to  do,  for  the  wife 
of  the  ancient  German  was  her  husband's  companion  and 
counsellor  in  time  of  peace  and  his  comrade  in  time  of  war. 

Of  the  male  sex,  he  says,  "those  who  are  bravest  and  most 
warlike  among  them  never  do  any  work  or  mind  any  busi- 
ness, but,  when  they  are  not  engaged  in  war  or  hunting,  spend 
their  whole  time  in  loitering  and  feasting,  committing  the 
management  of  their  houses,  lands,  and  all  their  affairs  to  their 
women,  old  men,  and  children."  This  custom,  which  to  the 
Roman  seemed  so  strange  and  so  contemptible,  was  doubtless 
but  a  relic  of  the  earlier  mother  age,  when  woman  was  not  the 
dependent  of,  but  the  teacher  and  ruler  of,  man.  Students  of 
German  mythology  claim  that  from  woman  proceeded  agricult- 
ure, medicine,  tradition,  and  family  life — from  man,  warfare 
xvn  [ 8 ] 


WOMAN 

and  hunting.  Long  before  the  father  had  become  a  member 
of  the  family  group,  the  mother  reigned  supreme  in  the  den, 
teaching  to  her  children  the  knowledge  she  had  acquired  in  her 
efforts  to  provide  for  herself  and  offspring.  For  a  long  period 
such  property  as  there  was  descended  through  the  mother,  and 
the  management  of  the  houses,  lands,  and  all  the  affairs  per- 
taining to  them  was  in  all  Hkelihood  due,  not  to  the  indolence 
of  the  men,  but  to  the  fact  that  woman  had  not  entirely  given 
place  to  man  as  head  of  the  household. 

The  social  customs  which  prevailed  among  the  ancient 
Britons  were  in  many  respects  similar  to  those  of  Germany. 
Both  Germans  and  Britons  lived  in  the  semi-promiscuous 
fashion  which  seems  to  have  led  the  Romans  to  form  such  a 
low  estimate  of  their  morals.  Their  houses  consisted  of  but 
one  apartment,  which  was  shared  by  men,  women,  and  children, 
who  during  the  night  rested  on  one  continuous  bed  of  rushes. 
This  mode  of  life  must  have  seemed  exceedingly  barbarous  to 
the  civiHzed,  luxurious  Romans,  but  that  the  wives  of  the  Britons 
were  held  in  common,  as  is  stated  by  Julius  Caesar,  is,  we  con- 
sider, extremely  doubtful.  The  treatment  of  Cartismandna,  the 
adulterous  queen  of  the  Brigantcs,  whom  her  indignant  sub- 
jects obHged  to  vacate  the  throne  in  favor  of  her  injured  husband, 
tends  to  induce  the  belief  that  they  did  not  so  Hghtly  look  upon 
the  marriage  bond,  and  that  monogamy  was  practised  by  all 
classes  of  society.  In  Wales,  however,  wedlock  was  by  no  means 
indissoluble.  There  a  man  could  divorce  his  wife  upon  very 
slight  pretext,  and  a  wife  could  separate  from  her  husband  for 
such  a  sHght  cause  as  a  disagreeable  breath.  By  the  laws  of 
Hoel  Dda,  who  was  a  prince  of  that  country  in  the  tenth  cen- 
tury, a  man  was  allowed  to  give  his  wife  three  blows  with  a 
stick  upon  any  part  of  the  body  except  the  head  if  she  com- 
mitted adultery,  if  she  squandered  his  means,  if  she  pulled  his 
beard,  or  "called  him  opprobrious  names,"  but  if  the  beating 
were  more  severe  or  for  any  more  trifling  reason,  he  was  fined. 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  what  was  the  exact  status  of 
woman  in  every  part  of  Britain  in  that  olden  time.  By  the 
law  of  regal  succession  a  British  king  was  succeeded  by  his 
daughter  or  by  his  widow,  if  he  left  no  son.  It  was  in  this  way 
that  the  famous  Boadicea  became  Queen  of  the  Iceni. 
XVU  [  9  ] 


WOMAN 

In  the  ordinary  ranks  of  life  a  man's  property  was  at  his 
death  divided  equally  among  his  sons.  What  share  was  ap- 
portioned to  his  daughters  is  not  quite  clear.  Among  the  Saxons 
on  the  Continent  it  was  customary  for  the  daughters  to  receive 
a  smaller  share  than  their  brothers.  In  like  manner  the  laws 
of  Wales  in  the  tenth  century  decreed  that  a  daughter  receive 
but  half  as  much  as  falls  to  her  brother  of  their  father's  in- 
heritance. There  is,  however,  a  law  of  King  Canute  from 
which  it  appears  that  sons  and  daughters  were  made  equal,  as 
they  may  have  been  in  even  earlier  times. 

Although  the  British  woman  was  in  many  cases  legally 
recognized  as  the  equal  of  man,  she  was  by  no  means  considered 
fit  to  be  her  own  guardian,  but  during  her  whole  life  was  in  the 
care  of  one  of  the  opposite  sex.  While  unmarried  she  was,  of 
course,  under  the  control  of  her  father.  At  his  death  her 
brother  took  his  place,  or,  if  she  had  none,  her  nearest  male  rela- 
tive. The  women  who  had  no  relations  fell  to  the  guardianship 
of  the  king.  A  married  woman  was  under  the  legal  control  of 
her  husband,  provided  that  she  had  been  married  with  the  con- 
sent of  her  previous  guardian,  whose  authority  could  not  be 
taken  from  him  without  his  consent.  His  compHance  was 
usually  gained  by  means  of  ample  presents,  sometimes  so  ample 
that  it  became  necessary  to  pass  a  law  fixing  the  amount  for 
people  of  all  ranks.  The  value  of  the  presents  varied  not  only 
according  to  the  rank,  but  according  to  the  condition  of  the 
woman,  only  half  as  much  being  paid  in  the  case  of  a  widow  as 
was  paid  for  a  maiden  of  the  same  rank.  The  man  who  married 
without  the  consent  of  his  bride's  guardian  had  no  legal 
authority  over  his  wife  nor  any  of  her  possessions,  and  had 
to  suffer  various  severe  penalties  for  his  crime  (mundbreach), 
for  such  it  was  reckoned. 

Marriage  was  celebrated  with  a  great  deal  of  festivity, 
although  the  ceremony  was,  Hke  that  of  the  Germans,  of  the 
simplest  description.  Among  the  guests  were  included  all  rela- 
tives within  the  third  degree.  Each  guest  was  expected  to  give 
a  present  to  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  the  latter  also  re- 
ceived a  present  from  the  guardian  of  the  bride.  This  "fader- 
fium"  was  all  the  dowry  which  the  husband  received  with  his 
wife.     On  the  morning  after  the  marriage  the  bridegroom  had 

XVII  [  ID  ] 


WOMAN 

to  retaliate  by  presenting  a  valuable  gift  to  his  wife.  This 
"  morgaengif e  "  (morning  gift)  became  her  own  separate  prop- 
erty, to  which  she  had  exclusive  right. 

The  ancient  British  woman  appears  to  have  been  as  fond  of 
dress  as  were  her  Continental  sisters,  the  women  of  Gaul. 
Boadicea  is  described  by  Dio  as  wearing  a  short  tunic  of  thick 
woollen  cloth,  over  which  was  a  long  mantle  reaching  nearly  to 
the  ground.  Massive  gold  ornaments  were  worn  by  both  sexes, 
the  gold  chains  of  Caractacus  and  of  Boadicea  being  thought 
worthy  of  special  mention  by  the  Roman  historians.  Luxuriant 
tresses  were  also  esteemed  ''a  thing  of  beauty,"  and  the  golden 
hair  of  the  ill-fated  Queen  of  the  Iceni  is  said  to  have  floated 
far  down  over  her  armor  when  engaged  in  battle.  Indeed, 
it  is  evident,  from  all  that  we  can  learn  of  the  women  of  the  re- 
mote past,  that  they  did  not  differ  so  widely  from  the  women  of 
the  present  day  as  the  lapse  of  time  would  lead  us  to  expect, 
and  that,  apart  from  outward  circumstances,  they  were  women 
''in  all  things  like  as  we  are."  ' 


XVII  [  II  ] 


WOMAN 
MARRIAGE  AND  MODERN  CIVILIZATION 

BY 

W.  S.  ULLY 

"A  person  is  a  man  endowed  with  a  civil  status"  (civili 
statu  prceditus)  was  the  definition  of  Latin  jurisprudence.  And 
this  was  the  conception  of  personahty  which  Christianity  found 
in  the  Roman  Empire,  and  transformed.  Far  other  was  its 
teaching  as  to  personahty.  Christianity  revealed  human  nat- 
ure to  itself,  exhibiting  man  as  self-conscious,  self-determined, 
morally  responsible ;  as  by  his  very  nature  invested  with  rights 
inalienable  and  imprescriptible,  and  encompassed  with  correla- 
tive duties;  as  lord  of  himself  in  the  sacred  domain  of  con- 
science, and  accountable  there  only  to  Him  whose  perpetual 
witness  conscience  is.  This  was,  in  fact,  a  new  principle  of 
individuahty.  The  individual  of  the  later  Roman  jurisprudence 
was  the  citizen,  just  as  the  individual  among  the  Germanic  in- 
vaders of  the  decadent  Empire  was  the  member  of  the  tribe. 
Slaves  were  regarded  as  mere  things.  Christianity  vindicated 
the  moral  and  spiritual  freedom  of  men  as  men,  proclaimed 
their  universal  brotherhood,  and  insisted  that  before  their  Crea- 
tor and  Judge,  rich  and  poor,  bond  and  free,  meet  together  in 
the  essential  equivalence  of  human  personahty.  Victor  Hugo's 
picturesque  saying  is  Hterally  true — truer  even  than  he  realized : 
"The  first  Tree  of  Liberty  was  that  Cross  on  which  Jesus  Christ 
offered  Himself  in  sacrifice  for  the  Hberty,  equality,  and  fra- 
ternity of  mankind." 

So  much  as  to  the  root  idea  of  modern  civilization :  the  idea 
of  differentiating  it  from  all  other  civihzations :  the  idea  of 
human  personality.  "  Tw  homo,  tantum  nomen  si  te  scias'' 
("How  great,  O  man,  is  the  name  thou  bearest,  if  thou  only 
knewestl")  said  St.  Augustine.  But  by  this  revelation  of  the 
dignity  of  human  nature — I  might  say  the  sanctity,  homo  res 
sacra  homini — the  weaker  half  of  humanity  benefited  far  more 
than  the  stronger  half.  The  proclamation  of  the  spiritual 
equality  of  woman  with  man  in  the  new  order' — "In  Jesus 
xvn  [ 12 ] 


WOMAN 

Christ  there  is  neither  male  nor  female" — notwithstanding  her 
natural  subjection  to  him  economically,  brought  about  what 
may  well  appear  the  most  wonde  ful  part  of  the  great  change 
due  to  the  influence  of  Christianity.  The  estate  of  woman  in 
the  Roman  Empire  has  been  pithily  expressed  by  one  of  the 
most  recent,  and  not  the  least  authoritative,  of  its  historians. 
"She  was  degraded  in  her  social  condition,"  writes  Merivale, 
"because  she  was  deemed  unworthy  of  moral  consideration; 
and  her  moral  consideration,  again,  sank  lower  and  lower  pre- 
cisely because  her  social  condition  was  so  degraded."  Among 
the  Jews — and  we  must  never  forget  that  Christianity  first  came 
before  the  world  as  a  Jewish  sect — ^her  place  was  no  higher; 
indeed  it  was  lower.  Divorce  was  practised  by  the  Hebrews 
to  an  extent  unknown  even  in  the  lowest  decadence  of  im- 
perial Rome.  The  text  in  Deuteronomy  authorizing  a  man  to 
put  away  his  wife  if  he  found  in  her  some  blemish  (aliquam 
jceditatenij  as  the  Vulgate  has  it)  was  interpreted  most  liberally 
by  the  Rabbis.  Any  cause  of  offence  was  sufficient,  according 
to  Hillel:  for  example,  if  a  woman  let  the  broth  burn;  and 
Akiva  lays  it  down  that  a  man  might  give  his  wife  a  bill  of 
divorcement  if  he  could  find  a  better-looking  spouse.  Polyg- 
amy, too,  was  at  the  least  tolerated,  if  it  was  not  largely  prac- 
tised ;  indeed,  it  still  survives  among  the  Jews  of  the  East,  and 
did  not  disappear  among  those  dwelHng  in  the  West  until  the 
prohibitory  law  of  Rabbi  Gershom  ben  Jehudah  was  passed 
in  the  Synod  of  Worms  (a.d.  1020). 

But  Christianity  did  more  than  merely  vindicate  the  per- 
sonahty  of  woman.  It  protected  her  personality  by  what  a 
learned  writer  has  well  called  "the  new  creation  of  marriage." 
There  are  few  things  in  history  more  astonishing — we  may  say, 
in  the  strictest  sense,  miraculous — than  the  fact,  for  fact  it  is, 
that  a  few  words  spoken  in  Syria  two  thousand  years  ago  by  a 
Jewish  peasant,  "despised  and  rejected  of  men,"  brought  about 
this  vast  change,  which  has  wrought  so  much  to  purify  and 
ennoble  modern  civilization;  surely  an  emphatic  testimony  to 
the  truth  of  the  Evangelist's  assertion:  "He  knew  what  was 
in  man."  De  Wette  remarks,  with  his  usual  judiciousness. 
"Christ  grounds  wedlock  on  the  original  interdependence 
(Zusammengehdrigkeit)  of  the  two  sexes,  estabHshed  by  God, 
XVII  [  13  ] 


WOMAN 

and  lays  it  down  that,  as  one  cannot  exist  without  the  other,  the 
inseparability  of  their  union  should  follow.  This  union  is, 
indeed,  the  work  of  man;  but  it  takes  place,  and  ever  should 
take  place,  through  an  inner  tendency  {Drang),  proceeding 
from  the  original  interdependence  of  the  sexes,  through  love. 
The  separation,  on  the  other  hand,  ...  [of  those  who  thus 
come  together]  takes  place  through  human  arbitrariness  i}Vill- 
kur),  or  through  lusts  and  passions  which  unfairly  or  incon- 
sistently annul  what  was  ordained  in  conformity  with  the  original 
law  of  Nature"  ("was  dem  urspriingHchen  Naturgesetze  ge- 
mass  gestiftet  war"). 

This  is  the  Magna  Charta  of  woman  in  modern  civilization : 
this  Hfelong  union  of  two  equal  personaHties ;  this  gift  of  one 
woman  to  one  man  as  adjutorium  simile  sihiy  a  help  Hke  unto 
him — "not  hke  to  Hke,  but  Hke  to  difference";  a  union,  a  gift, 
consecrated  by  reUgion  and  made  holy  matrimony.  But  I 
may  observe  in  passing,  Christianity  did  even  more  than  this 
to  secure  the  position  of  feminine  humanity  in  that  new  order 
of  society  which  it  was  to  mould.  Soon — how  soon  the  Cata- 
combs bear  witness — the  type  of  womanhood  ideahzed  in  the 
Virgin  Mother  assumed  a  prominent  place  in  the  devotions  of 
the  faithful;  and  as  this  idea  germinated  in  the  Christian  con- 
sciousness, Mary  received  a  worship  inferior  only  to  that  offered 
to  her  Son.  The  conception  presented  by  the  Madonna  would 
have  been  f  ooHshness  to  the  antique  Greeks,  and  Romans  too. 
It  was  a  stumbhng-block  to  the  Jews,  contemptuous  of  the 
daughters  of  her  who  figures  so  poorly  in  the  account  received 
by  them  "of  man's  first  disobedience  and  the  fruit  of  that  for- 
bidden tree."  The  Christian  Church,  from  the  earhest  times, 
dehghted  to  think  of  Mary  as  the  second  Eve,  who  had  undone 
the  work  of  the  first,  and  had  brought  life  instead  of  death  into 
the  world,  mutans  Evce  nomen;  changing  the  name  of  the  temp- 
tress into  the  "Ave"  of  the  angeHc  salutation.  And  when  a 
thousand  years  had  passed  away,  and  chivalry  arose,  the  "all 
but  adoring  love"  of  Christians  for  her,  powerfully  stimulated 
the  quasi-rehgious  veneration  paid  in  the  Middle  Ages  to  the 
graces  of  feminine  nature,  a  veneration  which,  striking  a  note 
before  unheard  in  the  world,  has  inspired  the  highest  poetry  of 
modern  civilization.  Such  was  the  influence  exercised  on  the 
XVII  [  14  ] 


WOMAN 

place  of  her  sex  in  the  new  order  of  society  by  "the  Mother  of 
fair  love,  and  fear,  and  knowledge,  and  holy  hope."  "Born  of 
a  woman"  is  the  true  account  of  the  modern  home,  with  its  re- 
fined and  elevating  influences.  That  is  the  characteristic  spe- 
cially marking  off  the  Christian  family  from  the  other  families 
of  the  earth.     It  is  founded  on  woman,  not  on  man. 

We  must,  however,  remember  that  the  conception  of  matri- 
mony, which  was  so  powerfully  to  affect  modern  civilization — 
for  that  is  my  immediate  theme — was  not  fully  and  firmly  es- 
tablished for  centuries.  Lotze  excellently  observes:  "The  rela- 
tion of  Christianity  toward  the  external  condition  of  mankind 
was  not  that  of  a  disturbing  and  subversive  force.  But  it  de- 
prived evil  of  all  justification  for  permanent  continuance  .  .  . 
when  the  spirit  of  Christian  faith  made  itself  felt  in  the  relations 
of  life."  The  Church  at  the  beginning  accepted,  generally,  the 
marriage  customs  prevaiHng  in  the  Roman  Empire.  The 
Christian  bride,  hke  her  pagan  sisters,  wore  the  long  white  robe 
with  the  purple  fringe,  the  yellow  veil,  the  girdle  which  the 
bridegroom  was  to  unloose.  The  ring,  the  coronation — still 
retained  in  the  Eastern  Church — the  joining  of  hands,  contin- 
ued to  beautify  the  nuptial  rite  for  the  votaries  of  the  new  faith. 
But  for  them  it  was  hallowed  by  a  prayer  of  benediction,  offered 
by  a  bishop  or  priest ;  and,  sometimes,  by  the  Eucharistic  Sacri- 
fice. Again,  the  Church,  like  the  Roman  legists,  recognizes 
the  essence  of  marriage  as  residing  in  the  free  consent  of  the 
man  and  woman  contracting  it.  But  from  the  first  she  regarded 
it  as  something  more  than  a  contract — as  a  state  of  Hfe  divinely 
ordained  for  ends  of  the  natural  order,  but  hallowed  by  a  super- 
natural significance  into  an  august  mystery  of  reHgion.  And 
therefore  she  utterly  rejected  the  view  which  she  found  preva- 
lent in  the  Roman  Empire,  that,  as  it  had  been  contracted  by 
mutual  consent,  so  by  mutual  consent  it  might  be  dissolved. 
From  the  first  she  insisted  upon  its  permanency  as  well  as  upon 
its  unity. ^     So  much  is  absolutely  certain.     But  was  it  possible 

1  And  a  second  marriage,  after  the  death  of  either,  was  regarded  with 
much  disfavor,  as  it  still  is  in  the  Greek  Church.  Athenagoras  calls  it 
"  a  decent  adultery  " ;  Clement  of  Alexandria,  "  fornication."  St.  Greg- 
ory Nazianzen,  while  conceding  to  the  bigamist  "  pardon  and  indulg- 
ence," terms  a  third  marriage  ''iniquity,"  and  pronounces  that  he  who 
exceeds  that  number  is  "  manifestly  bestial."     St.  Jerome  allows  that 

XVII  [  15  ] 


WOMAN 

for  this  sacrosanct  bond  to  be  dissolved  in  its  essential  character  ? 
It  is  quite  clear  that  the  early  Church  never  held  as  lawful  the 
remarriage  of  either  husband  or  wife  during  the  Ufetime  of 
either,  if  separated  for  any  other  cause  than  adultery.  It  is 
equally  clear  that  on  the  question  whether,  if  adultery  did  in- 
vahdate  the  bond,  both  the  innocent  and  the  guilty  party,  or 
either  of  them,  might  remarry,  the  Church  gave  no  certain 
sound  for  long  centuries.  The  balance  of  authority  among  her 
weightiest  teachers  is  against  all  such  remarriage.  But  they 
are  divided  in  opinion;  nay,  some  of  the  greatest  of  them  waver 
in  their  judgment,  incHning  now  to  one  side,  now  to  the  other. 
Gradually  the  loftier  and  sterner  view  of  the  Christian  con- 
cept was  apprehended  in  the  West,  and  maintained  by  the 
Roman  Pontiffs,*  though  not  till  the  opening  Middle  Ages  was 
the  absolute  indissolubihty  of  marriage,  when  once  rightly  con- 
tracted, save  by  the  death  of  one  of  the  contracting  parties, 
firmly  estabhshed  in  the  canon  law.  It  is  the  doctrine  set  forth 
by  Gratian,  whose  Decretum  (a.d.  1140),  a  work  of  supreme 
authority,  is  the  basis  of  the  Corpus  Juris  Canonici;  and  from 
his  time  to  our  own  it  has  been  universally  accepted  throughout 
the  Catholic  Church. 

It  is  a  true  saying  that  a  man  is  formed  at  the  knees  of  his 
mother.  The  kind  of  men  found  in  a  civiHzation  depends 
upon  the  kind  of  women  found  in  it.  The  ethos  of  society — 
what  Burke  called  "the  moral  basis" — is  determined  by  women. 
And  their  goodness  or  badness,  as  our  very  language  bears 
witness,  depends  upon  their  purity.  That  is  the  root  of  all 
feminine  virtues,  and  the  source  of  a  people's  genuine  greatness. 
Kenan's  saying  is  so  true  as  to  be  almost  a  truism:  "La  force 
d'une  nation  c'est  la  pudeur  de  ses  femmes."     And  the  great 

those  who  contract  more  than  one  marriage  may  remain  in  the  Church, 
but  on  sufferance  only,  and  likens  them  to  the  unclean  beasts  in  Noah's 
ark. 

1  Even  so  late  as  a.d.  726  Pope  Gregory  the  Second,  in  a  letter  to 
St,  Boniface,  while  recommending  that  a  man  whose  wife's  health  for- 
bade conjugal  intercourse  should  not  marry  again,  left  him  free  to  do  so 
provided  he  maintained  her.  Gratian  remarks  that  this  concession  "  is 
altogether  opposed  to  the  sacred  canons;  nay,  even  to  the  Evangelical 
and  Apostolic  doctrine."  It  is  certainly  opposed  to  the  view  taken  by 
all  Gregory's  successors  in  the  Roman  See,  and,  so  far  as  we  know,  by 
all  his  predecessors. 

XVII  [  16  ] 


WOMAN 

bulwark  of  woman's  chastity  is  the  absolute  character  of 
matrimony. 

We  owe,  then,  to  the  severe  teaching  of  the  Catholic  Church 
that  institution  of  indissoluble  monogamy  which,  more  than 
anything  else,  marks  off  our  modern  civiHzation  from  all  other 
civilizations.  It  is  matter  of  history,  over  which  we  need  not 
Hngcr,  how  unflinchingly  the  Catholic  Church  ^  has  upheld  the 
integrity  of  that  institution  throughout  the  ages.  Nor  need  we 
examine  the  arguments  adduced  by  her  divines  in  support  of  it. 
I  may,  however,  make  an  observation  on  the  criticism  to  which 
one  of  those  arguments  is  manifestly  open.  Theological  writers, 
when  maintaining  that  indissoluble  monogamy  is  divinely  in- 
stituted— and  surely  with  reason,  for  it  issues  from  the  divinely 
ordained  nature  of  things  in  their  ethical  relations — have  been 
confronted  with  the  obvious  difficulty  presented  by  the  practice 
of  Hebrew  patriarchs  and  kings,  of  acknowledged  sanctity, 
with  whom  they  claimed  solidarity.  ,  Their  favorite  expedient 
for  meeting  this  difficulty  is  the  hypothesis  that  a  Divine  dis- 
pensation for  polygamy  was  granted  to  the  human  race  from 
the  time  of  the  flood  associated  with  that  f  amiHar  figure  of  our 
childhood,  the  Noachian  ark,  and  was  revoked  by  Christ.  It 
is  objected  that  they  do  not  disclose  the  manner  in  whijch  this 
stupendous  indulgence  was  proclaimed  to  mankind,  or  explain 
why  knowledge  of  its  summary  cancellation  was  withheld  from 
the  countless  milHons  affected  thereby.  The  objectors  do  not 
understand  that  theological  fictions,  Hke  legal,  have  their  proper 
office  in  certain  stages  of  social  evolution,  as  necessary  stepping- 
stones  on  which  our  race  rises  to  higher  things. 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  institution  of  marriage  in  our 
modern  civilization  rests,  not  on  argument,  but  on  authority. 
The  nations  to  which  the  CathoHc  Church  taught  the  doctrine 
of  Christ  did  not  heckle;  their  teacher;  they  received  her  as  the 
prophet  of  God,  and  believed  her  on  her  bare  word.     The  great 

1  It  cannot  be  too  emphatically  stated  that,  in  the  Catholic  Church, 
divorce,  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word — the  dissolution  of  the  mar- 
riage bond — is  never  gfranted,  and  is  never  recognized.  The  common 
phrase,  "the  divorce  of  Henry  the  Eighth,''  has  given  rise  to  much 
popular  misapprehension  It  was  not  a  divorce,  as  the  term  is  now 
understood,  but  a  declaration  of  nullity,  which  Henry  the  Eighth 
sought,  and  the  Holy  See  refused. 

xvn  [17  J 


WOMAN 

religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth  century  is  congruously 
termed  Protestanism.  Its  imitators  differed  widely  upon  a  great 
many  matters.  But  Henry  the  Eighth  and  Luther,  Calvin 
and  Zwingli,  Knox  and  Miinzer,  however  varying  their  private 
judgments  in  things  theological,  were  all  agreed  in  protesting 
against  the  authority  of  the  Pope,  and  in  substituting  for  it  their 
own.  And  when  the  authority  of  the  ApostoHc  See  was  cast 
off,  much  of  the  doctrine  and  discipHne  which  it  upheld  was 
mutilated.  The  doctrine  and  discipHne  of  marriage  did  not 
escape  this  fate.  In  England,  indeed,  though  the  schism  arose 
from  the  refusal  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  to  prostitute  Christian 
matrimony  to  the  lust  of  a  tyrant,  the  institution  itself  was 
left  intact.^  This,  it  may  be  observed  in  passing,  was  by  no 
means  due  to  Cranm.er.  His  own  history,  perhaps,  sufficiently 
explains  his  aversion  from  the  CathoHc  doctrine  of  marriage. 
At  all  events,  it  is  abundantly  clear  that  he  was  as  wilHng  to  relax 
the  nuptial  bond  for  the  .world  in  general  as  to  cancel  it  for  his 
master.  The  legislation  on  divorce  which  he  proposed  to  sub- 
stitute, in  the  Reformatio  LegumEcclesiasHcarum,ioY  the  CathoKc 
law  might  have  satisfied  even  Luther,  whose  practice  is  suf- 
ficiently indicated  by  his  own  marriage,  and  by  the  dispensation 
for  polygamy  given  by  him  to  the  Landgrave  PhiHp  of  Hesse. 
The  earlier  generations  of  the  Lutheran  sect  appear  to  have 
followed  its  founder's  views  concerning  the  relations  of  the  sexes 
hand  passihus  cEquis.  From  the  first,  indeed,  it  allowed  divorce 
for  adultery  and  malicious  desertion,  as  did  also  the  sect  founded 
by  Calvin.  But  it  was  not  until  the  eighteenth  century  that 
the  dissolution  of  the  matrimonial  tic  was  accorded  by  Protestant 
consistories  for  such  reasons  as  "uncongeniality,"  "irreconcil- 
able enmity,"  and  the  Hke.  In  fact,  as  Protestantism  developed, 
the  pronouncements  of  its  pundits  concerning  the  bond  of 
marriage  became  laxer.  Nor  was  this  laxity  confined  to  its 
more  rationalistic  forms.  Even  the  greatest  of  the  Puritans, 
John  Milton,  in  that  masterpiece  of  eloquence,  erudition,  and 
invective.  The  Doctrine  and  Discipline  oj  Divorce,  "pushe^  the 

1  In  theory,  but  not  in  practice.     Between  the  Reformation  and  the 
establishment  of  the  Divorce  Court  (a.d.  1S57)  many  marriages  were 
dissolved  by  Act  of  Parliament,  the  Anghcan  bishops  not  protesting 
and  in  some  cases  expressly  consenting. 
XVII  [  18  ] 


WOMAN 

Protestant  license,"  to  borrow  the  phrase  of  his  editor,  very  far. 
The  position  which  he  sets  himself  to  establish  is  "that  indis- 
position, unfitness,  and  contrariety  of  mind,  arising  from  a 
cause  in  nature  unchangeable,  hindering  and  ever  likely  to 
hinder  the  main  benefits  of  conjugal  society,  which  are  solace 
and  peace,  is  a  greater  reason  of  divorce  than  natural  frigidity, 
especially  if  there  be  no  children,  and  that  there  be  mutual 
consent." 

This  was,  substantially,  the  position  taken  by  the  publicists 
of  the  French  Revolution — the  second  Act  in  that  great  Euro- 
pean drama  which  opened  with  the  Protestant  Reformation. 
Of  course  the  foulness  which  they  preached  in  their  crusade 
against  Christianity  would  have  been  rejected  with  horror  by 
Milton's  God-fearing  soul.  Purity  they  regarded  as  "a  new 
disease  brought  into  the  world  by  Christ";  modesty  as  "a  vir- 
tue fastened  on  with  pins" ;  holy  matrimony  as  '' a  superstitious 
servitude."  And  their  legislation,  when  they  obtained  the  power 
to  legislate,  was  the  faithful  expression  of  these  opinions.  Their 
great  "reform"  was  to  reduce  marriage  to  a  civil  contract,  ter- 
minable by  the  consent  of  the  contracting  parties.  Other 
grounds  of  divorce  enumerated  by  their  law  of  1792  were  in- 
sanity, desertion,  absence,  emigration,  and  incompatibility  of 
temper  on  the  allegation  of  either  husband  or  wife.  The 
measure  seems  to  have  been  successful  beyond  the  expectation 
of  its  authors.  During  the  twenty-seven  months  following  its 
enactment  six  thousand  marriages  were  dissolved  in  Paris  alone, 
and  in  the  year  1797  the  divorces  actually  outnumbered  the 
marriages.     Duval,  in  his  Souvenirs  Thermidoriens,  tells  us : 

"People  divorced  one  another  with  the  least  provocation; 
nay,  they  divorced  without  any  provocation,  and  with  no  more 
ado  than  they  would  have  made  for  an  expedition  to  gather 
lilacs  in  the  meadows  of  Saint-Gervais,  or  to  eat  cherries  at 
Montmorency.  The  husband  had  a  mistress,  and  was  tired  of 
his  wife ;  the  wife  had  a  lover,  and  desired  nothing  better  than 
to  be  rid  of  her  husband.  They  informed  one  another  of  the 
state  of  the  case,  set  out  together  for  the  city  hall,  acquainted 
the  mayor  that  they  could  no  longer  bear  each  other,  and  on 
the  same  day,  or  the  next,  the  divorce  was  granted  for  incom- 
patibility of  temper.  x\nd  the  children — what  became  of  them  ? 
XVII  [  19  ] 


WOMAN 

What  did  it  matter?  The  spouses  were  free  from  one  another; 
the  most  important  thing  was  achieved.  Moreover,  it  was  not 
rare,  on  account  of  the  ease  with  which  marriages  could  be  dis- 
solved, to  find  couples  who  had  been  divorced  five  or  six  times 
in  as  many  months.  Occasionally  very  ludicrous  things  hap- 
pened. Once  two  couples  acted  after  the  manner  of  La  Fon- 
taine's Troqueurs,  that  is  to  say,  they  arranged  an  exchange  of 
husband  and  wife  among  themselves :  and  the  two  couples  were 
on  such  good  terms  that  the  double-wedding  breakfast  was 
held  at  their  joint  expense." 

The  Napoleonic  Code  somewhat  curbed  this  bestiality,  and, 
at  the  Restoration,  the  old  Catholic  marriage  legislation  was 
reinstated  in  France.  But  the  Third  Republic  has  reenacted 
divorce  by  the  law  of  the  27th  of  July,  1884,  carried  by  the  per- 
sistent endeavors  of  M.  Naquet,  a  measure  which,  though  going 
beyond  the  corresponding  legislation  in  England,  is  less  licentious 
than  the  law  of  the  First  Republic. 

The  French  Revolution  is  the  immediate  source  of  a  number 
of  sophisms  concerning  man  and  society  which  have  worked 
their  way  into  popular  favor  throughout  Europe  during  the  last 
century,  and  now  tyrannize  as  shibboleths.  They  are,  one  and 
all,  underlain  by  that  spurious  individualism  which  is  of  the 
essence  of  Rousseau's  teaching,  and  which  the  Revolution, 
happily  described  by  Burke  as  "  an  armed  doctrine,"  endeavored 
to  translate  into  fact.  The  atomism,  real  or  imaginary,  of  cer- 
tain unstable  tribes  in  the  lowest  stages  of  civilization,  was  for 
Rousseau  the  true  ideal  of  the  family.  It  is  a  false  ideal;  but 
it  is  the  ideal  which  so-called  Liberalism  has  persistently  en- 
deavored to  realize.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  attack 
on  the  permanency  of  marriage  throughout  Europe,  which  has 
already  been  crowned  with  so  much  success,  is  an  outcome  of 
this  ideal — an  ideal  essentially  anarchic.  When  the  Divorce 
Court  was  established  in  England,  that  sagacious  pubhcist 
Le  Play — ^whose  writings,  I  fear,  are  hardly  known  in  this 
country — saw  in  it  *'  a  symptom  of  the  decline  of  public  morality; 
"ellc  affaiblit,"  he  observed,  "dans  I'esprit  de  la  nation  le 
principe  de  I'ordre  supdrieur."  But,  of  course,  what  has  been 
accomplished  here  by  the  opponents  of  indissoluble  marriage, 
falls  far  short  of  their  achievements  elsewhere.  In  Germany, 
XVII  [  20  ] 


WOMAN 

"insuperable  aversion"  is  recognized  as  a  ground  for  divorce; 
so  is  ''hopeless  insanity,"  or  "malignant  inconsistency,"  or 
" quarrelsomeness,"  or  "a  disorderly  mode  of  life,"  or  "drunken- 
ness," or  "extravagance."  In  Sweden,  "hatred,  ill-will,  prod- 
igality, drunkenness,  or  a  violent  temper "  suffices.  The 
Protestants  of  Austria  may  divorce  one  another  for  "violent  dis- 
like." In  Switzerland,  "marriage  relations  greatly  strained" 
are  recognized  as  a  valid  reason  for  dissolving  the  marriage. 
But  in  the  last-mentioned  country  a  still  further  "reform"  is 
desired  by  the  party  of  "progress,"  and  an  appeal,  by  way  of 
referendum,  to  the  "yea  and  no  of  general  ignorance"  is  con- 
templated, with  a  view  of  legalizing  divorce  whenever  "a  pro- 
found disorganization"  of  such  relations  occurs. 

The  American  courts  take  a  very  liberal  view  of  cruelty. 
It  appears  that  they  have  granted  divorce  to  a  petitioning  wife 
on  this  ground  when  her  husband  "did  not  wash  himself,  there- 
by inflicting  great  mental  anguish  on  her";  when  "he  accused 
her  sister  of  steahng,  thereby  sorely  wounding  her  feeHngs", 
when,  "after  twenty-seven  years  of  marriage,  he  said:  'You  are 
old  and  worn  out;  I  do  not  want  you  any  longer' ";  when  "he 
would  not  cut  his  toenails,  and  she  was  scratched  severely 
every  night";  when  "he  persisted  in  the  use  of  tobacco,  thereby 
aggravating  sick  headaches,  to  which  she  was  subject."  A 
petitioning  husband,  on  the  other  hand,  has  obtained  from 
them  the  dissolution  of  his  marriage  for  such  instances  of 
cruelty  as  the  following:  when  "his  wife  pulled  him  out  of  bed 
by  the  whiskers";  when  "she  upbraided  him,  and  said:  'You 
are  no  man  at  all, '  thereby  causing  him  mental  suffering  and 
anguish";  when  "she  refused  to  keep  his  clothes  in  repair, 
and  even  to  cook,  and  never  sewed  on  his  buttons";  when  "she 
struck  him  a  violent  blow  with  her  bustle." 

This  is  the  condition  into  which  the  institution  of  marriage 
has  already  come  in  modern  civilization.  And  the  causes  to 
which  this  is  due  are  yet  working,  and  with  ever-increasing 
activity.  Materialism,  disguised  and  undisguised,  is  the  fashion- 
able philosophy  of  the  day.^  It  is  fatal  to  the  idea  of  human 
personality,  and,  consequently,  to  the  spiritual  prerogatives  of 

1  For  the  proof  of  this  statement  I  must  refer  the  reader  to  Chapter  I. 
and  to  the  Appendix  in  my  work  On  Right  and  Wrong. 
XVII  [  21  ] 


WOMAN 

woman.  It  means  to  her,  as  Dean  Merivale  has  well  observed 
in  his  striking  Lectures  on  the  Conversion  oj  the  Northern  Na- 
tions, from  which  I  quoted  in  an  earlier  portion  of  this  paper, 
"a  fall  from  the  consideration  she  now  holds  among  us."  It 
means  that  she  must  "descend  again  to  be  the  mere  plaything 
of  man,  the  transient  companion  of  his  leisure  hours,  to  be  held 
loosely,  as  the  chance  gift  of  a  capricious  fortune." 

Such  transient  companionship,  such  loose  holding,  appear  to 
many  careful  observers  the  substitute  for  Christian  marriage 
which  will  be  found  in  the  world  as  Christianity  becomes  gener- 
ally discredited;   a  consummation  which  they  deem  imminent. 
To  quote  at  length  even  the  more  considerable  of  contemporary 
publicists  who  have  expressed  this  view,  would  take  me  far 
beyond  my  present  limits.     I  can  here  cite  only  a  very  few 
words  from  three  of  them.     Mr.  Karl  Pearson,  in  his  learned 
and  able  work.  The  Ethic  of  Free  Thought,  writes:   "LegaHzed 
life  monogamy  is,  in  human  history,  a  thing  but  of  yesterday; 
and  no  unprejudiced  person  can  suppose  it  a  final  form.     A 
new  sex  relationship  will  replace  the  old.     Both  as  to  matter 
and  form  it  ought  to  be  a  pure  question  of  taste,  a  simple  matter 
of  agreement  between  the  man  and  w^oman."     Mr.  Pearson, 
in  his  most  suggestive  volume,  National  Life  and  Character, 
holds  that  as  ''the  religion  of  the  State"  replaces  Christianity, 
which  he  thinks  it  is  swiftly  and  surely  doing,  it  will  be  "im- 
possible to  maintain  indissoluble  marriage,"  and  "the  tie  be- 
tween husband  and  wife"  will  "come  to  be  easily  variable, 
instead  of  permanent."     Similarly,  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells,  in  the 
singularly  interesting  Anticipations,  with  which  he  has  just 
favored  the  world,  deem^s  it  "impossible  to  ignore  the  forces 
making  for  a  considerable  relaxation  of  the  institution  of  per- 
manent monogamous  marriage  in  the  coming  years,"  and  holds 
it  "foolish  not  to  anticipate  and  prepare  for  a  state  of  things 
when  not  only  will  moral  standards  be  shifting  and  uncertain, 
admitting  of    physiologically  sound  menages  of   very  variable 
status,  but  also  when  vice  and  depravity,  in  every  form  that  is 
not  absolutely  penal,  will  be  practised  in  every  grade  of  mag- 
nificence, and  condoned." 

I  own  I  think  this  prognostication  of  the  return  of  modern 
civilization  to  "the  morals  of  the  poultry  yard"  well  warranted 

XVII  [  22  ] 


WOMAN 

by  the  signs  of  the  times.  It  rests,  indeed,  upon  the  assump- 
tion that  the  revolution  in  the  relations  of  the  sexes,  steadily 
progressing  since  the  destruction  of  the  religious  unity  of  Europe, 
will  continue  unchecked.  Whether  that  assumption  is  correct 
"  only  the  event  will  teach  us,  in  its  hour."  Of  course  we  must 
not  forget  that  human  affairs  seldom  advance  for  very  long  in  a 
straight  hne.  "  Inest  in  rebus  humanis  quidam  circulus."  The 
future  rarely  corresponds  with  the  forecasts  of  even  the  wisest. 
Still,  as  we  look  around  the  world,  it  is  impossible  not  to  recog- 
nize the  strength  of  the  forces  which  militate  against  marriage. 
I  know  well  that  we  cannot  count  reason  among  them.  The 
human  reason,  properly  disciplined  and  correctly  exercised, 
is  capable  of  ascertaining  the  ethical  principles  necessary  to 
enable  man  to  arrive  at  his  natural  ideal— the  harmonious  de- 
velopment of  all  his  powers  in  a  complete  and  consistent  whole. 
And  from  these  principles  is  derived  the  true  norm  of  matri- 
mony so  well  expressed  by  the  great  jurisconsult  of  ancient 
Rome:  "Conjunctio  maris  et  feminae  est  consortium  omnis 
vitae;  divini  et  humani  juris  communicatio."  A  state  of  life 
involving  the  fusion  of  two  personalities,  and  fraught  with  con- 
sequences most  momentous  to  both,  and  to  society,  its  unity 
and  indissolubihty  issue  from  the  nature  of  things  in  their 
ethical  relations. 

The  only  real  witness  in  the  world  for  the  absolute  character 
of  holy  matrimony  is  the  Cathohc  Church.  And  whether  men 
will  hear,  or  whether— as  seems  more  Ukely — they  will  forbear, 
she  warns  them  that  to  degrade  indissoluble  marriage  to  a  mere 
dissoluble  contract,  to  a  mere  regulation  of  social  police,  to  a 
mere  material  fact  governed  by  the  animal,  not  the  rational, 
nature,  will  be  to  throw  back  modern  civilization  to  that  wallow- 
ing in  the  mire  from  which  she  rescued  it. 


XVII  [  23 


XVIII 


UNIVERSAL  SUFFRAGE 

"  THE  ESSENTIAL  EQUALITY  OF  MAN  AND  WOMAN" 

BY 

FRANCES  POWER  COBBE 

AND 

WILLIAM  K.  HILL 


jn\  ISMISSING  the  moral  side  of  the  problem  of  woman  in 
■^-^  her  relations  with  man,  we  turn  now  to  its  practical 
aspect.  What  is  woman'' s  position  in  the  world  to-day,  and  what 
is  it  like  to  be  in  the  immediate  future  ?  This,  in  every  public 
woman's  mind,  hurls  us  at  once  upon  the  question  of  woman  suf- 
frage, or  ^^ universal  suffrage''^  as  many  of  its  advocates  prefer 
to  cqll  it.  Any  vehemently  argued  issue  is  perhaps  better  under- 
stood by  viewing  it  from  a  distance;  and  so  we  have  purposely 
dealt  with  this  agitated  theme,  not  as  it  presents  itself  to  any  one 
of  its  supporters  in  America,  but  as  it  strikes  our  English  cousins. 
Frances  Power  Cobbe  has  long  been  a  leading  name  among  woman 
suffragists.  A  granddaughter  of  Archbishop  Cobbe,  of  Dublin, 
Miss  Cobbe  early  became  a  leader  in  religious  circles,  and  in  her 
own  career  has  exemplified  the  principles  for  which  she  stands, 
being  widely  known  as  a  lecturer,  an  author,  and  a  journalist. 
The  following  address  was  first  delivered  by  her  before  the  Ladies^ 
Club  in  Clifton. 

Lest  her  view  of  the  matter  might  be  thought  one-sided  we 
supplement  it  with  a  discussion  by  a  ^^mere  man,^^  who  ap- 
proaches the  subject  in  its  broader  aspect.  Going  beyond  ^^  suf- 
frage^^  Mr.  Hill  inquires  as  to  the  equalities  and  inequalities  of 
the  sexes,  mental,  moral,  and  physical.  He  even  attempts  to 
strike  a  scientific  balance  and  deduce  results. 
XVIII  f  I  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

There  are  two  sides  from  which  we  may  regard  the  woman- 
suffrage  demand :  the  Justice  of  it  and  the  Expediency  of  it. 

I  am  one  of  those  who  would  always  place  the  former  in  the 
foreground,  for  I  believe  with  Cicero  that  "nothing  is  right 
because  it  is  expedient,  but  it  is  expedient  because  it  is  right." 
When  we  have  ascertained  the  righteousness  of  any  Hne  of  ac- 
tion, public  or  private,  we  may  be  pretty  sure  that,  in  God's 
world,  it  will  turn  out  sooner  or  later  to  have  been  the  ex- 
pedient course;  if  not  in  the  lower  sense  and  connected  with 
our  baser  interests,  yet  in  the  higher,  connected  with  those  in 
which  the  happiness  and  honor  of  human  life  consist. 

Now  as  regards  the  Justice  of  the  claim  of  women  to  the 
franchise,  we  must  of  course  admit  at  starting  that  the  whole 
idea  of  representative  government  is  a  modern  one,  and  that 
the  abstract  idea  of  justice — what  Kant  would  call  "a  Law  lit 
for  Law  Universal " — is  difficult  of  application  to  it.  We  might 
have  lived  still  under  a  government  at  any  stage  between  a 
Greek  democracy,  where  every  man  has  his  own  representative 
in  the  market-place,  and  a  Russian  autocracy,  where  the  Auto- 
crat may  say  like  Louis  XIV.,  Uetat  c'est  moi.  But  as  we 
stand  now  in  the  twentieth  century  in  England,  it  would  seem 
that  {where  men  are  concerned)  two  principles  are  almost  uni- 
versally accepted  as  just — namely,  that  those  who  are  called 
on  to  obey  the  laws  should  have  a  voice  in  making  them ;  and 
that  those  who  pay  taxes  should  have  a  voice  in  their  expenditure. 

These  two  principles,  I  remark,  are  almost  universally  ac- 
cepted as  just,  for  men.  Very  few  people  will  refuse  to  admit 
that  they  are  so.  But  why  then,  I  ask,  are  they  not  to  be  held 
just  likewise,  and  equally,  where  women  are  concerned?  We 
too  are  called  upon  to  obey  the  laws.  Why  should  not  we  have 
a  voice  in  making  them?  We  too  (alas!)  are  called  upon  to 
pay  taxes.  Why  should  not  we  have  a  word  to  say  about  their 
expenditure?  This  is  our  contention.  That  what  is  just  for 
the  gander  would  also  be  just  for  the  goose!  At  least  the  onus 
of  proving  that  it  is  not  so  hes  with  our  opponents. 

Of  course  the  real  origin  and  still  existing  source  of  this 
failure  of  justice  is  the  old,  old  story  of  the  subjection  of  the 
weak  to  the  strong— the  inevitable,  and  (not  blamable)  omnip- 

XVIII  [  2  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

otence  of  men  in  times  when  Might  made  Right;  and  a 
natural  survival  of  the  old  state  of  mascuhne  overbearing  under 
happier  and  softer  conditions,  in  the  minds  both  of  men  and 
women.  It  is  an  idee  fixe  with  both  sexes  that  men  should 
rule,  and  women  be  ruled.  But  now,  surely,  the  time  has  come 
when  the  problem  may  be  regarded  dispassionately  and  with- 
out prejudice  by  both  parties,  and  the  question  pressed  home: 
Why,  if  it  be  just  to  give  men,  who  have  to  obey  the  laws  and 
pay  taxes,  a  voice  in  making  the  laws  and  expending  the  taxes, 
is  it  not  also  just  to  give  the  same  voice  to  women  who  have  to 
do  both,  the  same  as  they  ? 

I  apprehend  that  very  few,  even  of  the  sternest  opponents 
of  our  claims,  will  attempt  to  dispute  them  on  these  abstract 
grounds  of  justice  pur  et  simple.  But  they  will  say  that,  where 
pubhc  interests  are  concerned,  other  things  must  be  taken  into 
consideration  beside  abstract  and  theoretic  justice;  and  that 
the  weakness  of  women  renders  them  by  nature  unfit  to  take 
part  in  government  or  public  affairs;  that  their  inclusion  in 
the  constituencies  would  water  down  the  political  Hfe  of  the 
nation  and  weaken  the  constitution;  and  that  there  are  other 
objects  to  which  their  whole  attention  should  be  given— namely, 
to  housekeeping  and  baby- rearing. 

Now  let  us  face  this  argument  from  the  inferiority  of  women 
frankly.  It  is  true!  Women,  on  the  whole,  are  intellectually 
as  well  as  physically  less  strong  than  men.  That  is,  if  we  set 
up  almost  any  standard  of  ability  or  genius  or  erudition,  we 
shall  find  a  good  many  more  men  than  women  attain  to  it. 
The  highest  standard  of  all  no  woman  has  ever  yet  reached; 
and  accordingly  we  have  been  contemptuously  taunted  with 
the  question : 

"Where  is  your  Hamlet,  your  Macbeth, 
Your  soul-wrought  victories? " 

^^Nowhere,^^  I  cheerfully  answer,  unless  poor  Sappho 
(whom  Aristotle  ranks  alongside  of  Homer  and  ^Eschylus)  at- 
tained it ;  and  her  works  (all  the  nine  books  save  a  few  frag- 
ments!) men  have,  unfortunately,  managed  to  lose.  I  have 
also  recently  learned  that  many  of  the  hymns  in  the  Rig  Veda 
are  by  female  Rishis.  That  these  are  absolutely  Divine  is  the 
XVIII  [  3  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

belief  of  all  Brahmins.  I  possess  an  idol  of  Brahma  the  Creator, 
which  represents  him  as  holding  the  four  Vedas  in  his  four 
hands,  and  reading  them  with  his  four  heads.  Think  of  the 
chief  God  of  the  Trimurti  reading  a  woman's  writing!  * 

But  now  arises  the  question:  Has  the  possession  of  genius 
sufficient  to  write  "Hamlet"  and  ''Macbeth"  anything  to  do 
with  the  exercising  of  the  voting  power  in  the  United  Kingdom 
as  at  present  constituted  ? 

If  it  be  so,  then  the  whole  Celtic  population  would  be  justly- 
disfranchised,  for  there  has  never  been  a  Celtic  Shakespeare, 
or  Homer,  or  Dante,  or  Milton,  any  more  than  there  has  been 
a  woman  of  the  same  exalted  intellectual  rank.  But  if  no  one 
would  dream  of  urging  this  deficiency  against  a  good  Scotch, 
Welsh,  or  Irish  farmer  as  a  reason  why  he  should  not  cast  a 
vote  for  the  candidate  he  prefers  at  his  county  election,  is  it  not 
ridiculous  to  use  it  as  a  reason  for  refusing  the  same  franchise 
to  us  women?  The  same  argument  apphes  in  the  still  higher 
field  of  philosophy.  There  has  never  been  a  female  Plato  or 
Kant.     But  neither  has  there  been  a  Celtic  Plato  or  Kant. 

There  would  be  some  fairness  in  arguments  on  this  line  if 
some  intellectual  test,  high  or  low,  were  made  the  condition 
of  ability  to  vote  for  a  member  of  ParHament.  In  that  case  it 
might  be  a  proportionately  small  number  of  women  who  would 
reach  it.  But  there  would  be  some;  and  that  would  end  the 
injustice  of  the  present  state  of  things. 

But  admitting  frankly  the  inferiority  of  our  sex  as  regards 
great  epics  and  tragedies  and  systems  of  philosophy,  we  must 
here  put  in  a  pertinent  question:  Whether  women  have  proved 
themselves  Hkewise  inferior  in  that  gift — power,  faculty — what- 
ever we  may  call  it,  which  alone  concerns  the  question  in  hand  ? 
Are  women  bad  politicians,  bad  administrators,  incapable  nat- 
urally of  understanding  and  guiding  aright  our  ship  of  state  ? 
I  will  tell  my  reasons  for  urging  this  question. 

I  possess  at  home  two  heavy  volumes  of  tables  of  ancient 

^  The  Psalm  which  says:  "The  Lord  gave  the  Word,  great  was  the 
company  of  the  preachers,"  ought  (I  am  informed  by  the  best  Hebrew 
scholars)  to  be  translated:  "The  Lord  gave  the  Word.     The  heraldesses 
who  proclaimed  it  were  a  great  host." 
XVIII  [  4  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

and  modern  history,  in  which  I  noted  down  (in  my  long-past 
studious  youth)  all  the  sovereigns  of  all  the  countries  concern- 
ing which  I  was  able  to  glean  any  information;  using  a  little 
system  of  my  own  for  showing  at  a  glance  their  descents  and 
successions.  It  occurred  to  me  some  time  ago  to  count  over 
the  names  in  these  tables;  and  I  found  there  were  more  than 
2,500  men  sovereigns  on  record — kings  and  emperors;  and  of 
these  a  proportion  of  something  like  5  per  cent,  were  to  be  ranked 
as  "eminent"  or  "illustrious"  rulers,  according  to  Mr.  Francis 
Galton's  definitions. 

Among  them,  at  long  intervals,  in  almost  every  country 
appeared  also  Queens,  numbering  altogether  51.  But  in  that 
half  hundred,  nearly  half  were  indisputably  "eminent"  or 
"illustrious";  some  of  them  the  best  rulers  which  their  coun- 
tries ever  possessed.  We  cannot  enter  far  into  this  inquiry 
(I  have  often  begged  my  hterary  friends  to  undertake  it  care- 
fully), but  I  will  just  name  a  few  out  of  the  small  number  of 
women  who  have  ever  reigned  as  independent  sovereigns,  and 
ask  the  reader  to  consider  whether  they  do  not  stand  out  lus- 
trously in  the  pages  of  history  ?  ^ 

1  must  begin  in  order  of  time  (even  if  modern  investigation 
leaves  them  as  half-mythical  personages,)  with  the  great  Semir- 
AMis,  and  her  successor  (after  five  generations)  Nitocris  of 
Babylon.  Both  of  these  queens  are  credited  by  Herodotus 
with  vast  works  of  pubHc  beneficence  connected  with  the  great 
Rivers;  and  the  former,  Diodorus  says,  "traversed  all  parts  of 
the  vast  Assyrian  Empire,  erecting  great  cities  and  stupendous 
monuments,  and  opening  roads  through  savage  mountains." 
Nitocris,  Herodotus  describes,  as  building  a  sort  of  draw- 
bridge over  the  Euphrates,  and  making  other  great  works. 

After  a  second  Nitocris  (called  in  the  Turin  Papyrus 
Netagerti),  Queen  of  Egypt,  who  is  said  to  have  wreaked  a 
fearful  retribution  on  her  brother's  murderers  and  then  to  have 
buried  herself  alive  ;^  we  come  at  last  to  firm  grounds  of  history 

^Many  of  the  51  above  counted  as  Queens-Regnant  were  the 
daughters  of  preceding  sovereigns,  married  to  their  successors,  and 
practically  not  more  independent  rulers  than  other  Queens-Consort. 

2  See  History  of  Egypt  by  Flinders  Petrie,  Vol.  I.,  p.  105. 

XVIII  [  5  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

in  the  actual  movements  of  the  glorious  reign  of  Queen  Hatepsu 
(or  more  properly  Hatshepsut)  at  Deir-el-Bahri,  and  the  great 
obeHsks  at  Karnak.  It  is  Httle  to  say  to  those  who  have  studied 
these  monuments,  and  the  wondrous  story  of  her  Embassy  to 
the  Land  of  Punt,  that  Queen  Hatepsu  was  one  of  the  most 
enHghtened  princes  of  the  ancient  world,  and  one  of  the  grandest 
of  the  mighty  Pharaohs. 

Again  we  find  Deborah  among  the  Judges;  a  woman 
whose  generalship  saved  Israel  from  the  tyranny  of  Jabin,  and 
secured  peace  for  the  land  for  forty  years;  and  whose  "Song" 
remains  to  us  (as  recent  criticism  avers)  the  most  ancient  frag- 
ment of  Hebrew  Scripture.  Again  we  find  Artemisia,  the 
heroine  of  Salamis,  who  alone  saved  her  ships  in  that  disastrous 
battle,  and  for  whose  life  the  (not  very  chivalrous!)  Athenians 
offered  a  reward  of  10,000  drachmas  because  they  "could  not 
bear  to  be  beaten  by  a  woman";  also  the  second  Artemisia, 
of  HaHcarnassus,  who  built  to  her  husband's  memory  the  sub- 
lime Mausoleum,  which  has  been  ever  since  the  archetype  of 
noble  funeral  monuments. 

Again:  Zenobia,  the  magnificent  and  illustrious  Queen  of 
Palmyra,  the  friend  of  Longinus,  of  whom  her  conqueror, 
Aurelian  (who  so  meanly  compelled  her  to  adorn  his  triumph) 
said  that  he  had  "never  encountered  so  brave  and  resolute  a 
foe." 

Passing  to  the  Western  world  we  have  our  own  British 
BoADiCEA  defying  all  the  power  of  Rome,  and,  when  she  could 
do  so  no  longer,  kilUng  herself  to  escape  capture.  Later  on, 
Margaret,  Queen  of  Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden,  reached, 
as  we  read,  by  her  great  abihty  as  a  sovereign  and  diplomatist, 
"a  degree  of  power  unequalled  in  Europe  since  Charlemagne." 
Isabella  II.,  Queen  of  Castile,  to  whose  discernment  of  the 
genius  of  Columbus  the  world  owes  the  discovery  of  America. 
Our  own  Queen  Elizabeth,  of  whose  greatness  it  is  needless 
to  speak;  Maria  Theresa,  of  Austria,  of  whom  we  read  that 
she  "made  great  financial  reforms,"  and  that  in  her  reign  "Agri- 
culture, Manufacture  and  Commerce  flourished,  and  the  na- 
tional revenue  greatly  increased."  Catherine  II.,  of  Russia, 
no  doubt  a  bad  woman,  but  not  perhaps  a  very  bad  Empress, 
XVIII  [  6  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

to  whom  it  is  noticeable  that,  alone  of  all  female  sovereigns, 
the  title  of  ^^GrcaV'  has  been  appropriated!  Then  we  have 
the  present  mysterious  Empress  of  China — "She" — who, 
whether  innocent,  or  a  monster  of  cruelty  and  craft,  is  probably 
the  ablest  Hving  person,  man  or  woman,  among  the  four  hun- 
dred milHons  of  the  Celestial  Empire.  And  lastly,  and  greatest 
and  best  of  all.  Queen  Victoria  of  England.  Few  will  be 
found  to  say  that  this  true  Woman — fond  wife,  tender  mother, 
kind  and  sympathizing  friend  to  all  who  suffered — was  not  at 
least  as  good  a  poHtician  as  any  male  voter  in  her  dominions, 
nay,  perhaps  as  any  of  her  illustrious  subjects  in  the  great 
"Victorian  Age"  which  bears  her  name.  Yet  Queen  Victoria 
was  not  "a  genius."  Her  simple  books  show  no  trace  of  an 
intellect,  or  an  imagination,  which  could  have  composed  a 
Hamlet^  or  a  Macbeth,  or  a  Paradise  Lost;  still  less  a  Phcedo, 
or  a  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunjt.  She  was,  in  short,  a  "mere 
woman";  we  might  say  a  typical,  duty-loving  woman.  But 
nevertheless  she  was  (quite  indisputably)  a  first-rate  Statesman ! 

Thus  I  think  we  may  fairly  contend  that  if,  in  any  branch  of 
human  intelligence,  women  are  the  equals  of  men,  it  is  pre- 
cisely in  the  one  from  which  they  are  carefully  excluded  by  law, 
unless  they  happen  to  be  born  princesses!  Then,  indeed,  they 
are  placed  at  the  top  of  the  constitution;  and  for  sixty  years 
we  never  hear  a  complaint  of  their  incapacity  for  poHtics. 

Where  then,  I  ask,  can  be  found  any  plea  of  justice  for  ex- 
cluding our  whole  sex  from  the  very  simplest  and  smallest  of 
poKtical  rights,  when  in  that  field  at  all  events  we  have  been 
proved  to  possess  at  least  equal  faculty  with  men  ?  What  right 
have  our  legislators  to  continue  to  classify  for  this  important 
purpose  every  Hving  woman — blameless  as  to  crime,  and  of 
full  age  to  form  a  solid  judgment — as  if  she  were  of  necessity 
by  nature  always  a  pauper,  an  idiot,  a  criminal,  or  a  minor  ? 

The  refusal  to  us  of  Parhamentary  votes  is  assuredly  a  rank 
injustice,  and  it  practically  involves  a  score  of  other  injustices 
resulting  from  our  unrepresented  position,  which  causes  our 
interests  inevitably  to  go  to  the  wall.  We  demand  therefore 
in  all  seriousness  and  earnestness  that  this  injustice  be  done 
away  with  in  the  United  Kingdom,  as  it  has  been  done  away 
XVIII  [  7  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

with  in  our  Southern  Colonics,  and  in  the  Isle  of  Man,  with 
none  but  beneficial  results  to  the  whole  community.^ 

But  now  let  us  turn  from  the  painful  and,  I  confess,  to  me, 
irritating  subject  of  the  Injustice  of  which  we  complain  in  the 
refusal  to  us  of  the  suffrage  on  the  same  terms  as  men,  and 
consider  for  a  few  pleasant  moments  what  may  happen  if  the 
sense  of  justice  in  men  ever  rise  high  enough  to  induce  them 
to  grant  us  our  natural  rights.  We  have  no  means  to  force 
this  concession  on  men.  That  is  our  misfortune.  We  have  no 
pou  sto  from  which  to  work,  and  sorely  we  have  wanted  one! 
But  I  beheve  in  the  universal  progress  of  all  humanity;  and 
that  the  day  will  come  when  the  difference  of  the  constitution 
which  stands  between  us  will  appear  (as  in  truth  it  is)  abso- 
lutely unreasonable  and  absurd,  and  the  expediency  of  granting 
to  us  women  the  ParHamentary  suffrage  will  become  manifest. 

I  am  persuaded  that  the  right  of  voting  (small  as  it  seems) 
will  carry  with  it  (if  we  ever  obtain  it)  a  great  intellectual  and 
moral  uplifting  of  women.  We  are  all — men  and  women — 
subject  to  a  law  of  our  nature  which  I  have  described  elsewhere 
as  the  Contagion  of  the  Emotions;  and  to  be  despised  is,  in  all 
but  the  very  strongest  natures,  to  despise  ourselves.  Now  the 
refusal  to  us  of  the  franchise  in  its  present  largely  extended 
area  is  to  deconsider  us ;  to  place  us  in  an  inferior  category  from 
even  very  ignorant  and  low-class  men.  It  is  degrading  to  our 
whole  sex,  qua  sex;  and  it  is  impossible  for  any  of  us  who  are 
of  an  age  and  pecuniary  position  in  which  we  should  have 
votes  if  we  were  men,  not  to  feel  this,  and  to  recognize  that, 

1  The  following  is  a  letter  testifying  to  this  fact  from  my  friend  Dr. 
John  Ellis  McTaggart,  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  who  is 
married  to  a  New  Zealand  lady : 

"  So  I  jot  down  the  following  conclusions  in  which  we  both  agree : — 

( 1 )  The  Colony  is  completely  satisfied  with  it . 

(2)  The  percentage  of  women  who  vote  is  smaller,  but  only 
slightly  smaller,  than  the  percentage  of  men. 

(3)  Neither  political  party  has  gained  by  it — the  women  ap- 
parently dividing  themselves  in  the  same  proportions  as  the  men 
between  the  two  parties. 

(4)  It  has  substantially,  but  not  overwhelmingly,  strengthened 
the  temperance  vote." 

XVIII  [  8  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

in  the  judgment  of  our  fellow-countrymen,  we  are  an  inferior 
class  of  beings.  This  comes  home  to  us  more  in  the  country 
than  in  a  town,  for  there  we  are  directly  confronted  with  mas- 
cuHne  privileges.  Our  own  farmers,  our  servants,  our  very 
laborers,  be  they  never  so  ignorant  and  stupid,  have  a  voice 
in  elections  while  we  have  none.  It  is  all  very  well  for  men 
to  glorify  womanhood  in  prose  and  verse,  and  treat  us  with 
special  courtesy,  and  even  to  worship  the  Madonna!  At 
bottom  most  men  feel  to  us  as  we  do  to  children ;  and  this  acts 
most  injuriously  on  our  own  characters  in  making  us  childish. 

Now  if  we  can  obtain  votes  men  will  begin  to  adopt  a  dif- 
ferent tone  toward  us,  for  they  will  want  to  interest  us  in  their 
politics.  It  will  not  be  a  rapid  change  on  their  side  or  on  our 
own;  but  it  is  bound  to  come  in  time.  They  will  also  seek 
more  often  the  society  of  women  who,  as  we  all  know,  are  apt 
to  be  a  good  deal  left  to  themselves  when  they  happen  to  be 
widows,  or  old  maids,  without  any  very  special  attractions.  It 
is  in  every  way  desirable  that  the  two  sexes  should  frequently 
converse  freely  together,  to  the  strengthening  and  enlarging  the 
minds  of  women  (and  even  putting  animal  spirits  and  pluck 
into  them) ;  and,  we  may  hope,  on  the  other  side,  to  the  soften- 
ing and  purifying  of  the  minds  of  men.  If  I  had  the  choice 
of  associating  only  with  women,  or  only  with  men,  I  should 
have  no  hesitation  in  preferring  women's  society.  But,  as  the 
children  say,  '^  Both  is  best,^'  and  there  is  always  a  loss  when 
men  never  converse  with  women  or  women  never  converse 
with  men.  You  know  what  George  Ehot  says,  "The  mascu- 
line mind — what  there  is  of  it — is  always  of  a  superior  order!" 
I  should  always  advocate  every  plan  bringing  us  into  common 
work  and  play — to  sit  on  committees  together  and  unite  as 
much  as  possible  in  all  public  action.  I  even  took  on  myself 
once  to  tell  the  lady  Principal  of  one  of  our  new  colleges  for 
women  at  Oxford,  that  I  thought  she  ought  to  be  a  married 
woman  with  a  husband  who  would  sit  at  the  head  of  the  dinner 
table  every  day  and  lead  the  conversation!  I  beHeve  it  would 
be  an  excellent  arrangement ;  better  for  the  students  than  many 
a  course  of  Lectures. 

Many  of  my  readers  must  have  noticed  the  different  nuance 
xvm  [  9  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

in  the  talk  of  English  and  of  American  gentlemen  to  women. 
In  America,  though  the  women  have  not  as  yet  votes,  except 
in  a  few  States,  they  have  attained  a  different  social  position 
from  that  which  we  hold  in  England:  and  consequently  an 
American  man  talks  up  to  us;  very  visibly  taking  it  for  granted 
that  we  know  as  much  and  have  as  good  a  judgment  of  the  sub- 
ject in  hand  as  himself.  An  EngHshman  on  the  contrary 
usually  talks  down  to  us.  He  assumes  that  we  know  Uttle  or 
nothing;  and  that  our  opinions  (if  we  have  any)  are  hardly 
worth  ascertaining.  This  he  does  pretty  universally  to  ladies 
who  are  strangers  to  him.  Only  if  he  happen  to  know  that  the 
woman  to  whom  he  is  speaking  is  the  possessor  of  brains,  he 
is  apt  to  treat  her  in  a  still  more  aggravating  manner,  and  to 
imply,  in  all  he  says,  that  she  is  not  as  other  women  are,  "fools 
and  sHght,"  but  stands  apart  from  her  sex — a  very  great  insult 
as  we  must  all  consider  it.  After  a  certain  number  of  years 
of  the  new  regime  I  am  convinced  that  the  minds  of  women 
would  grow  larger  and  stronger,  even  as  their  bodies  have  done 
in  the  last  forty  years  by  fresh  air  and  exercise,  and  then  a 
generation  will  arise  in  which  women  will  scarcely  be  called 
any  longer  the  ''  weaker  sex." 

But  the  moral  and  intellectual  advantages  to  women  per- 
sonally which  the  franchise  would  in  time— slowly  perhaps,  but 
surely — bring;  and  also  the  actual  material  gain  which  in  many 
cases  it  would  involve  by  compelhng  Parhamentary  attention 
to  the  Bills  in  which  their  interests  are  concerned— these  gains 
are  secondary  to  the  great  issue:  "What  will  be  the  influence 
of  the  feminine  vote  on  the  poHtics  of  the  nation  at  large?" 
For  a  long  time  it  will,  of  course,  not  tell  very  greatly  in  varying 
this  poHcy  one  way  or  another;  but  as  time  goes  on,  it  must 
turn  the  balance  on  many  questions.  Will  that  influence  be 
for  bad  or  for  good  ? 

I  am  sure  that,  on  the  whole,  it  will  be  greatly  for  good. 
Mistakes  may  be  made,  and  no  doubt  women  will  be  affected 
like  men  by  waves  of  popular  sentiment,  causing  them  some- 
times to  throw  their  weight  wrongly.  But  in  the  long  run  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  both  the  conscientiousness  and  the  ten- 
derness of  women  will  influence  public  affairs  and  the  making 
XVIII  [  lo  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

of  laws  in  the  direction  of  greater  humanity  toward  all  the 
poor  and  suffering,  to  captives,  to  criminals,  to  children,  to  the 
aged,  to  animals;  and  also  in  that  of  pubHc  morality;  in  that 
of  temperance;  and  finally,  in  that  of  peace.  No  Member  of 
Parhament,  depending  largely  for  his  election  on  the  votes  of 
women,  will  (for  example)  sanction  the  licensed  torture  of  ani- 
mals, on  the  ground  that  it  is  hoped  it  will  pay  in  useful  dis- 
coveries. 

Thus  viewing  the  whole  field  of  politics,  I  do  not  doubt  that 
the  concession  of  the  suffrage  to  women  on  the  same  terms  as 
men  now  hold  it  (or  on  any  terms  on  which  they  may  hold  it 
from  time  to  time),  will  be  expedient  as  well  as  just.  We  are 
not  a  sex  of  saints  and  sages,  though  there  have  been  some 
saints  and  sages  here  and  there  belonging  to  us ;  and  also  a  great 
many  sinners  and  fools.  But  on  the  whole  we  are  less  often 
criminals  than  are  men;  perhaps  we  are  a  little  less  selfish; 
and  certainly  more  conscientious  than  ordinary  men.  In  short, 
in  the  lump,  women  are  better  than  men,  though  not  so  strong 
and  not  so  clever.  As  Theodore  Parker  well  defined  it:  We 
are  not  the  equals  of  men,  but  their  equivalents.  We  are  not 
their  equals  physically,  aesthetically,  or  perhaps  intellectually. 
They  are  not  our  equals  in  things  higher  than  these — in  the 
regions  of  morality  and  of  the  affections,  human  and  divine. 

But  if  this  be  conceded,  is  it  not  to  under-estimate  goodness 
itself,  to  doubt  that  this  better  weight,  thrown  into  the  scales  of 
politics,  will  be  beneficial?  Once  again,  I  am  convinced,  it 
will  be  proved  (as  I  started  by  affirming),  that  what  is  JUST 
will  always  be,  in  the  highest  sense,  also  EXPEDIENT. 


*'THE  ESSENTIAL  EQUALITY  OF  MAN  AND  WOMAN" 

BY 

WILLIAM   K.  HILL 

Of  the  many  controversies  which  occupy  the  intellectual  ac- 
tivities of  the  human  race,  probably  none  is  more  ancient,  in- 
teresting, and  long-lived  than  that  which  concerns  the  relative 

XVIII  [  II  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

position  of  the  sexes  in  respect  to  capacity.  Before  the  dawn 
of  civilization  there  was  presumably  no  controversy  on  this 
point.  If  any  wandering  doubt  entered  the  mind  of  any  in- 
dividual woman,  either  she  kept  it  to  herself  or  the  prompt 
appHcation  of  a  male  hand  or  foot  silenced  its  expression  for- 
ever. Later  on  in  the  pre-Christian  civiHzations  of  South- 
eastern Europe,  if  womanhood  was  recognized  as  reaching 
nearer  to  the  admitted  superiority  of  manhood  than  barbarism 
beHeved,  the  admission  was  largely  theoretical,  and  its  illus- 
trations in  the  Aspasias  and  Cornelias  of  the  time  were  few  and 
far  between.  The  standard  set  up  by  Christ,  if  it  took  root  at 
all,  was  soon  disfigured  by  the  famous  gloss  of  his  Apostle  Paul. 
"In  like  manner,  ye  wives,  be  in  subjection  to  your  own  hus- 
bands, .  .  .  beholding  your  chaste  behavior  coupled  with 
fear,  ...  in  the  incorruptible  apparel  of  a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit,  .  .  .  as  Sarah  obeyed  Abraham,  calling  him  lord."  The 
mediaeval  appreciation  of  womanhood,  as  is  well  known,  was 
merely  a  vision  of  passion  and  fancy  which  rose  above  rational 
equaHty  into  the  region  of  fulsome  adulation.  Thence  through 
many  stages  of  effort  we  have  arrived  at  the  so-called  eman- 
cipation and  higher  education  of  woman,  upon  which  disfran- 
chisement is  perhaps  the  last  remaining  blot  of  any  magnitude. 

But  it  is  just  in  the  fact  of  the  persistence  of  this  great  and 
dark  blot,  and  of  the  many  smaller  and  lighter  blots  scattered 
over  the  sphere  of  sex-equality,  that  a  great  interest  lies  and 
much  food  for  reflection.  Why,  when  so  many  doors  have  been 
opened  to  women,  are  the  great  doors  of  the  parliament-house 
and  several  other  small  wickets  still  closed  to  them?  The 
answer  will,  I  think,  be  found  in  the  fact  that,  out  of  the  sum 
of  manhood,  there  are  still  but  few  men  who,  at  all  times  and 
under  all  circumstances,  really  believe  in  the  essential  equaHty 
of  the  sexes.  Of  the  rest,  the  majority  are  still  sceptical,  and 
the  minority  beheve  only  with  half  their  heart,  being  too  ready 
to  trim  their  sails  to  any  wind  of  adverse  criticism  blown  up 
by  the  passing  crazes  of  the  Press  and  platform,  or  the  drawing- 
room. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  is  still  a  matter  of  interest  to 
try  and  throw  new  light  upon  this  ancient  controversy,  and 

XVIII  [  12  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

unveil,  if  it  be  possible,  the  subconscious  opposition  which 
makes  so  many  men  admit  in  theory  the  equality  of  the  sexes 
and  yet  in  practice  act  upon  hnes  which  can  only  be  justified 
by  the  denial  of  such  equahty. 

Let  us  consider,  then,  these  leading  characteristics  of  the 
human  race:  reason,  imagination,  and  the  initiative  which 
manifests  itself  in  creative  work;  emotion,  courage,  moral  sta- 
bihty,  and  truth;  strength  and  endurance. 

Reason  is  equally  the  characteristic  of  both  sexes,  but  its 
derivatives,  reasonableness  and  reasoning,  are  said  to  be  more 
strongly  marked  in  man  than  in  woman.     Man  usually  thinks 
before  he  acts.     Woman  is  inchned  very  often  to  act  before  ^e 
thinks.     The  truth  of  this  would  in  no  way  be  lessened  by  the 
thoughtful  action  of  the  man  leading,  as  so  often  happens, 
to  a  result  inferior  to  that  which  flows  from  the  impulsive  action 
of  the  woman.     Dehberation  is  not  always  a  virtue;   yet,  inas- 
much as  the  man's  action  is  fundamentally  rational,  it  is  hkely 
to  blunder  less  often  than  the  sometimes  successful  intuition 
of  the  woman,  and,  under  the  conditions  of  the  average,  the 
superiority  would  lie  with  the  man,  assuming  that  this  alleged 
distinction  is  really  as  widespread  as  men  declare.     I  have 
heard  one  of  the  most  strenuous  advocates  of  the  emancipation 
of  woman  assert  that  women  are  inchned  to  be  very  unreason- 
able about  small  matters  in  the  sphere  of  the  home.     But  this 
apparent  unreasonableness  has  a  basis  in  reason  not  properly 
appreciated  by  man.     Take  one  example,  which  has  so  often 
been  the  subject  of  satire.     Woman  thinks  punctual  obedience 
to  the  dinner  gong  more  important  than  the  catching  and  fixing 
for  posterity  of  some  soul-compelhng  metaphor  or  one  ray  of 
''the  hght  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land,"  which  is  hovering 
just  on  the  horizon  of  the  imagination,  but  just  out  of  pen  or 
pencil  grip  when  the  gong  rings.     Is  it  not  because,  but  for  the 
assiduous   cuUivation  of   such  distorted   estimates  of   relative 
importance,  she  would  find  the  details  of  domestic  manage- 
ment altogether  too  sordid  and  wearisome,  and,  as  a  result, 
starve  and  weaken  the  great  mind  that  is  at  hand-grips  with 
inspiration  ? 

In  the  matter  of  imagination,  as  manifested  objectively  in 
XVIII  [  13  ], 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

its  works,  the  only  form  in  which  wc  can  estimate  it,  woman 
cannot  at  present  set  anything  against  such  male  achievements 
as  the  Iliadj  the  Divina  Commedia^  Hamlet^  Faust,  the  Venus 
of  Milo,  Tannhduser,  or  the  Choral  Symphony,  to  cite  only  a 
few  leading  examples. 

In  the  closely  allied  quahty  of  initiative  the  weakness  of 
woman  is  loudly  asserted  by  man  and,  though  I  shall  have 
occasion  to  traverse  this  contention  in  certain  particulars,  it  is 
difficult  to  cite  any  considerable  number  of  women  who  have 
initiated  and  shaped  with  creative  touch  great  works  or  great 
movements.  The  capacity  for  scheming  and  intrigue,  specially 
credited  to  woman,  is  quite  a  different  and  very  inferior  posses- 
sion, no  less  common  in  man,  as  any  one  Hving  amid  the  seeth- 
ing intrigue  of  present  educational  politics  will  admit.  But, 
taking  the  quahty  of  creative  initiative,  Sappho's  output  is 
merely  fragmentary.  Mrs.  Browning's  emotional  beauty  and 
imaginative  fervor  are,  for  many,  disfigured  by  lack  of  musical 
sense.  Cleopatra's  statecraft  was  only  destructive ;  and  though 
Joan  of  Arc  must  be  credited  with  the  initiation  of  a  truly  states- 
manhke  conception  of  pohcy,  it  is  doubtful  if  her  success  was 
due  so  much  to  able  generalship  as  to  the  power  of  inspiring 
enthusiasm.  The  distinguishing  characteristics  of  Elizabeth's 
greatness  were  a  capacity  for  recognizing  the  wisdom  of  her 
servants  and  a  devoted  patriotism,  rather  than  any  such  con- 
structive faculty  as  must  be  credited  to  Henry  II.,  Edward  L, 
and  others  of  England's  great  kings.  In  hke  manner  the  great- 
ness of  Victoria  was  much  more  the  outcome  of  her  success  in 
the  practical  apphcation  of  the  doctrine  of  constitutional  govern- 
ment than  in  any  constructive  power,  for  which  indeed  the  very 
system  of  modern  constitutional  government  left  her  Httle  scope. 

Great  deeds  may  be  laid  to  the  credit  of  emotion  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world  when  time  and  circumstance  favored  the  form 
of  stimulus  it  gives;  but  the  sins  chargeable  to  its  account  far 
outnumber  these  great  deeds.  Woman  has  long  held  the  repu- 
tation of  being  more  emotional  than  man. 

"Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please. 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made." 
XVIII  [  14  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

The  reason  commonly  assigned  is  physiological,  but  I  think  the 
true  cause  is  neither  so  permanent  nor  so  incurable. 

In  courage,  moral  stability,  mental  endurance,  and  truth  it 
would  seem  as  if  man  could  claim  no  superiority,  and  in  the 
last  three  must  even  yield  to  woman;  for  there  are  many  brave 
women,  and  woman's  power  of  mental  endurance  is  famous, 
while  her  morahty,  truth,  conscientiousness,  and  general  good 
behavior,  in  youth  at  least,  are  superior  to  man's.  None  the 
less  woman  has  always  been  looked  upon  as  more  timid  than 
man,  while  woman  and  nerves  have  always  been  associated  in 
the  popular  fancy.  It  is  well  known  that  in  fundamental  virtues 
woman  is  more  fastidious  than  man;  for  Pope's  dictum  that 
''every  woman  is  at  heart  a  rake"  was  merely  a  sacrifice  of 
truth  to  epigram ;  but  in  the  minor  verities  of  social  intercourse 
her  laxity  has  long  been  the  butt  of  the  social  satirist.  No  one 
charges  her  with  a  tendency  to  covet  her  neighbor's  husband 
as  a  man  covets  his  neighbor's  wife;  but,  when  it  is  a  case  of 
the  neighbor's  ox  or  ass,  as  symbolized  in  jewelry,  servants, 
or  a  double  coach-house,  she  is  credited  with  being  of  an  envious 
and  even  malicious  disposition.  Only  two  or  three  times  in  a 
century,  as  in  the  Humbert  case,  is  she  convicted  of  taking  part 
in  a  great  "deal";  but  social  fibs  and  hypocrisies  are  freely 
laid  to  her  charge.  The  most  virulent  misogynist  has  never 
accused  her  of  being  splendide  mendax,  hke  the  company  pro- 
moter; but  the  support  she  gives  to  ceremonial  observances 
whose  spirit  has  long  since  evaporated,  lends  point  to  a  charge 
of  small  insincerities.  Few  men  have  thought  more  highly  of 
women  than  Thackeray  did,  yet  he  says :  "There  are  some  mean- 
nesses which  are  too  mean  even  for  man — woman,  lovely  woman 
alone,  can  venture  to  commit  them."  Here  also  I  shall  have 
occasion  to  traverse  popular  opinion,  while  admitting  the  germ 
of  truth  from  which  it  is  developed. 

The  asserted  inferiority  of  woman  in  physical  strength  and 
endurance  is  difficult  to  controvert;  for  it  may  be  contended 
that  the  endurance  of  pain,  in  which  she  claims  a  superiority, 
is  merely  the  endurance  which  comes  of  use.  The  man  cries 
out,  because  the  sensation  is  strange  to  him.  The  woman 
suffers  pain  in  silence,  as  one  endures  the  querulousness  of  old 
XVIII  [  15  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

age,  because  one  expects  and  allows  for  it.  If,  however,  this 
be  true,  it  would  seem  to  be  a  question,  not  of  inferiority,  but 
of  habit,  with  the  sole  difference  that  nature  has  assigned  to 
woman  larger  opportunities  of  acquiring  the  particular  habit  in 
question. 

Whatever,  then,  may  be  the  virtue  and  abihty  of  individual 
women,  and  however  high  such  individuals  may  soar  above  the 
average  of  manhood,  it  is  alleged  that,  on  the  main  counts  of 
human  characteristics,  woman  in  the  mass  is  inferior  to  man  in 
the  mass.  I  shall  presently  try  to  show  that,  if  the  statement 
must  be  admitted  a  fact,  it  is  only  a  present  fact.  I  do  not 
beheve  that  this  inferiority  of  woman  need  be,  or  is  hkely  to  be, 
permanent.     I  come  now  to  my  second  thesis. 

Assuming  for  the  moment  that  woman's  achievement  is, 
up  to  the  present  time,  inferior  to  man's,  what  is  the  funda- 
mental cause  of  her  backwardness  ?  Surely  false  training  fos- 
tered by  fallacious  tradition. 

I  have  said  that  woman  is  now,  even  in  this  twentieth  cen- 
tury, charged  with  being  more  unreasonable  than  man.  If  this 
be  true,  it  is  because  generations  of  self-absorbed  fathers  and 
unenlightened  mothers  have  steadily  brought  up  their  sons  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  develop  reasonableness,  and  their  daughters 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  develop  unreasonableness.  The  teach- 
ing of  EucHd  in  schools  is  a  trite  example.  Even  now  in  many 
schools  this  first  essay  in  logical  deduction  is  begun  later  by 
girls  than  boys.  How  long  is  it  since  elementary— or  any— 
science  was  generally  introduced  into  the  curriculum  of  girls' 
schools?  But  the  false  lead  in  the  direction  of  non-reasoning 
has  long  been  given  much  earher  and  more  subtly — in  the 
playing  fields  by  the  inferiority  of  the  girls'  games  for  develop- 
ing reason  (compare  rounders  and  skipping  with  cricket  and 
hockey,  battledore  and  shuttlecock  with  football),  and  at  home 
by  the  consideration  which  is  given  to  childish  whims  when 
shown  in  the  girl,  while  in  the  boy  they  are  laughed  at  as  un- 
manly. This  toleration  of  action  upon  impulse  and  fancy 
has  been  carried  on  throughout  the  woman's  childhood  and 
youth  until  it  has  justified  the  Shakespearean  satire  upon  the 
adult  woman:  "I  have  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason;  I  think 
XVIII  [i6] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

it  so  because  I  think  it  so."  For  centuries  romancers,  who  are 
among  the  most  powerful  moulders  of  sex  character,  have  de- 
lighted in  representing  the  pretty,  but  empty-headed,  woman's 
unreasonableness  as  a  positive  charm  in  the  eyes  of  her  male 
adorer,  that  is,  until  the  practical  reahties  of  married  life  have 
shown  him  that  reasonableness  is  a  maker,  fancifulness  a  de- 
stroyer, of  human  happiness.  In  a  word,  lovers  and  romancers 
have  combined  to  describe  unreasonableness  as  a  most  reason- 
able thing  in  woman,  and,  heredity  helping,  woman  has  un- 
consciously moulded  herself  in  strict  accordance  with  the  prosaic 
doctrine  of  supply  and  demand. 

Again,  aided  and  abetted  by  the  approving  smile  of  man, 
woman  herself  has  clipped  the  wings  of  her  own  imagination 
so  that  it  should  not  soar  over  the  low  walls  of  the  nursery. 
How  should  woman  conceive  lUads  and  Divine  Comedies,  when 
generations  of  mothers  and  grandmothers  have  taught  her  that 
woman's  sphere  of  action  is  not  Ufe,  time,  or  eternity,  but  the 
little  world  of  infancy  and  childhood  with  its  small  delights 
and  sorrows,  its  crude  conceptions  and  narrow  horizon  of  ac- 
tivities? So  the  Faust  of  womanhood  is  dwarfed  into  Jack  of 
the  Beanstalk,  who  sells  his  infantile  obligations  for  an  immoral 
purchase  of  beans.  Her  Venus  of  Milo  becomes  the  plump 
and  rosy  Cupid  of  the  bath-tub,  so  much  so  that  her  very  notion 
of  physical  beauty  becomes  confused  with  that  of  physical 
luxuriance,  and  she  describes  a  more  or  less  shapeless  present- 
ment of  healthy  flesh  and  muscle  as  a  "lovely"  baby.  Later 
on  this  early  stunting  of  artistic  appreciation  brings  her  to  the 
admiration  and  adoption  of  the  false  anatomy  and  false  curves 
of  the  milUner's  model.  Similarly  her  sense  of  musical  grandeur 
is  kept  chained  to  the  ditties  of  the  Piper's  Son  and  all  his 
fraternity.  If  she  rocks  her  last  cradle  on  the  wrong  side  of 
forty,  it  is  small  wonder  that  her  musical  imagination  never  gets 
beyond  the  Choral  Symphonies  of  the  nursery.  It  is  no  answer 
to  this  argument  to  cite  the  large  attendance  of  women  at  art 
galleries  and  classical  concerts ;  for  to  galleries  and  concerts  they 
go  merely  to  absorb  artistic  and  musical  thought  and  beauty. 
The  sphere  of  stimulus  to  artistic  and  musical  imagination  is, 
for  the  vast  majority  of  women,  the  environment  of  the  cradle. 
XVIII  .    [  17  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

Lastly,  woman's  physical  inferiority  also  was  the  product 
of  bad  air  and  sedentary  conventions  rather  than  natural  de- 
fectiveness. Every  year  opens  to  her  some  new  profession, 
long  thought  to  be  too  arduous  for  female  limbs  and  feminine 
minds.  Her  tenacity  and  determination  in  these  professions 
prove  that  the  physical  strength  of  her  savage  ancestress,  who 
tilled  the  earth  and  built  the  home  while  her  savage  lord  amused 
himself  with  bow  and  spear,  has  only  been  lying  in  abeyance 
till  a  wiser  tradition  called  it  forth  to  labor  in  the  more  refined 
fields  of  activity  which  modern  civilization  throws  open  equally 
to  both  sexes.  Everywhere  the  opening  up  of  woman's  intel- 
lectual liberty  asserts  itself  in  her  physical  improvement — the 
height  of  her  figure,  the  strength  of  her  foot  and  arm,  and  the 
general  quickening  of  her  gait  and  carriage — all  pointing  to 
the '  breaking  up  of  a  false  tradition  of  sedentary  dulncss  and 
spiritual  starvation. 

False  training,  then,  fostered  by  fallacious  tradition,  has  lain 
at  the  root  of  that  backwardness  of  woman  which  has  so  long 
been  supposed  to  be  the  product  of  inherent  and  irremediable 
inferiority,  but  is  now  shown  to  be  no  more  inherent  than  the 
rapidly  disappearing  savagery  and  coarseness  of  man,  which 
also  were  once  thought  to  be  the  distinguishing  and  not  wholly 
unworthy  mark  of  his  manhood. 

And  now  for  my  last  thesis — Will  woman  ever  be  indis- 
putably equal  to  man,  and  when  ?  To  this  question  the  scoffer, 
shutting  his  eyes,  answers  glibly  ''no"  and  "never";  but  the 
thoughtful  man,  looking  round  with  wide  eyes  and  a  pondering 
mind,  and  applying  the  measure  of  his  own  experience,  notes 
the  rapid  progress  woman  has  made  even  in  his  own  memory. 
If  the  bent  of  his  mind  leads  him  to  look  for  the  root  of  things 
below  the  efflorescence  which  alone  attracts  the  average  mind,  he 
will  observe  the  significant  fact  that  woman  has  begun  her  race 
for  equality  with  man  by  first  securing  the  equipment  of  education. 

Education  is  the  great  economizer  of  historic  effort,  and  will 
enable  woman  to  cover  in  a  few  years  a  field  of  accomplishment 
which  illiterate  man  traversed  with  pain  and  error  and  frequent 
backsliding  only  in  a  decade  or  a  century.  Therefore  woman 
will  move  rapidly  through  the  necessary  schooling  of  experience, 
XVIII  [  i8  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

which  man  has  traversed  slowly  through  the  ages.  Our  curious 
observer  will  note  yet  another  significant  phenomenon  of  the 
twentieth  century,  which,  rumor  says,  has  attained  the  pro- 
portions of  a  social  anxiety  in  America — the  gradual  alienation 
of  man  from  the  powerful  agent  of  self-development  named 
above.  If  man  turns  from  education,  which,  in  the  guise  of 
modern  science,  has  been  mainly  responsible  for  the  abnormal 
strides  made  by  modern  civilization,  in  order  to  dull  his  finer 
susceptibilities  upon  the  coarser  grain  of  commercial  and  finan- 
cial operations — if  he  allows  woman  to  take  over  his  respon- 
sibiHties  in  the  matter  of  brain  production — the  march  of  her 
intellectual  and  moral  development  will  be  proportionately  ac- 
celerated, and  the  speed  with  which  she  is  already  overhauling 
him  in  the  race  will  grow  daily  greater.  Even  now  woman's 
once  ready  admission  of  inferiority  has  grown  reticent,  and  she 
is  generally  eager  to  claim  at  least  an  equahty  of  ability  with  its 
consequential  rights.  The  modern  Harriet  Byron  is  no  longer 
considered  to  outstep  decorum  when  she  enters  upon  an  argu- 
ment with  the  modern  Walden,  and  it  is  no  uncommon  experi- 
ence to  see  a  mixed  assembly  hstening  with  pleasure  to  an  intel- 
ligent woman  while  she  expounds  her  "  views"  on  some  matter 
of  current  interest.  In  the  middle  and  upper  classes  woman 
is  now  expected  to  be  intelligent  and  reasonable  as  well  as 
pretty,  and  the  absence  of  the  last,  when  nature  happens  to 
be  unkind,  is  more  readily  tolerated  than  the  absence  of  either 
of  the  first  two  quahties.  Indeed,  some  of  us  know  cases  where 
wit,  wisdom,  and  character  are  found  to  obliterate  entirely  a 
positive  ugliness  which  would  have  made  the  woman  in  ques- 
tion impossible  in  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  century  society. 
Though  grace  and  beauty  will  always  hold  sway,  the  eyes  of 
the  lover  are  becoming  less  easily  dazzled,  and  the  exhilaration 
which  thrills  the  male  being  when  first  inoculated  with  love's 
poison  is  apt  to  be  followed  by  shrewd  questionings  as  to  the  qual- 
ity of  the  brain  that  fights  the  fascinating  eyes.  Dolls  are  less 
easily  mistaken  for  goddesses,  and  mainly  because  your  true 
divinity  is  more  in  request;  for  which  reason,  as  the  value  of 
the  real  diamond  makes  its  purchase  a  work  of  judgment  that 
reacts  upon  its  value,  so  the  supply  of  a  better  class  of  femininity 
XVIII  [  19  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

has  aroused  a  finer  male  discrimination  that  is  again  reacting 
upon  the  quahty  of  that  femininity. 

In  the  matter  of  initiative,  woman  has  shown  a  growing 
capacity  since  female  emancipation  brought  opportunities  to 
her.  Naturally  at  first  she  has  displayed  this  capacity  in  those 
spheres  which  were  already  the  fields  of  her  particular  interest 
when  emancipation  came — education  and  philanthropy.  The 
recent  movement  for  the  higher  education  of  women,  the  associa- 
tions for  fostering  child-study,  co-education  and  the  kinder- 
garten, the  temperance  and  various  minor  movements,  furnish 
ample  evidence  of  capacity  for  initiative  in  woman.  If  we  bear 
in  mind  that,  chronologically,  these  movements  stand  in  the 
history  of  woman's  effort  where  the  Crusades,  the  Reformation, 
and  the  Renaissance  stood  in  the  history  of  man,  it  is  difficult 
to  avoid  the  conclusion  that,  as  time  and  opportunity  bring 
experience  and  practice,  it  will  be  discovered  that  initiative  in 
woman  was  never  absent,  but  merely  latent.  Already  on  the  gov- 
erning councils  of  educational  bodies,  and  on  certain  bodies  en- 
gaged in  municipal  administration,  woman  shares  with  honor  and 
distinction  in  the  initiation  and  moulding  of  constructive  work. 

I  have  already  noted  woman's  superiority  in  the  funda- 
mental virtues  and  the  signs  of  her  improvement  in  the  minor 
verities.  Ceremonial  with  all  its  insincerity  still  exerts  its  subtle 
influence  over  woman.  The  scoffer  says  "because  woman  is 
foolish."  The  physiologist  says  "because  woman  is  woman," 
that  is,  "a  creature  that  feels  rather  than  reasons."  I  venture 
to  traverse  both  assertions,  and  ascribe  her  excess  of  devotion 
to  ceremonial,  whether  in  hfe  or  rcHgion,  first  to  the  stunting 
of  her  reasoning  faculty  during  a  long  period  of  male  tyranny, 
with  the  consequent  intensification  of  the  other — the  emotional — 
side  of  her  human  nature.  Secondly,  I  attribute  it  to  the  greater 
purity  and  naive  innocence  of  her  character — the  result  of  long 
years  of  training  in  the  cult  of  "goodness" — which  encourages 
and  enables  her  to  read  reality  into  ceremonial  shams  and 
make  the  most  soulless  simulacrum  a  real  expression  of  what 
it  should  be,  but  is  not — a  real  feeling.  But  the  reasoning 
faculty  of  woman  is  no  longer  stunted.  It  is  nourished  as- 
siduously by  modern  science,  which  knows  not  sex.  Her 
XVIII  [  20  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

"goodness"  is  no  longer  "goody- goodness."  The  prudery  of 
affected  ignorance  has  given  place  to  the  modesty  of  discreet 
knowledge.  It  is  now  possible  for  a  woman  to  know  the  truths 
of  physiology  and  yet  be  pure-minded,  just  as  it  is  now  possible 
for  a  man  to  be  manly  without  being  coarse.  Both  sexes  are 
approximating  to  a  modesty  which  is  independent  of  drapery 
and,  consequently,  to  an  abhorrence  and  avoidance  of  shams, 
of  coverings  up,  of  whited  sepulchres,  of  incongruities  between 
the  inside  and  the  outside  of  the  cup  and  platter.  The  great 
agent  of  this  approximation  has  been  modern  science,  which 
teaches  men  and  women  equally  to  look  before  they  think,  to 
think  before  they  judge,  and  to  judge  before  they  generalize — 
a  serial  process  which  is  fatal  to  hollov/  ceremonial  and  flores- 
cent  shams.  In  the  matter  of  physical  strength  and  endur- 
ance, the  rapid  entry  of  woman  into  the  arena  of  male  labor, 
as  soon  as  the  artificial  barriers  of  prejudice  were  broken  down, 
and  her  ever-increasing  and  successful  competition  with  man, 
show  that  the  levelling  up  of  her  physical  strength  to  his — 
certain  temporary  functional  derangements  excepted — is  only 
a  matter  of  time  and  training. 

Everywhere,  then,  the  rapid  rise  of  woman  from  the  charac- 
teristics of  a  depressed  existence  to  those  of  a  free  and  equal 
development  shows  that  her  inferiority  to  man  is  factitious  and 
not  inherent — the  result  merely  of  artificial  restrictions  now 
withdrawn,  not  the  outcome  of  a  poorer  raw  material  which 
can  never  take  the  higher  polish  that  man  has  acquired  and  now 
boasts  to  be  the  proof  of  a  superior  metal.  That  woman,  then, 
will  one  day  be  and  appear,  in  all  but  functional  peculiarities, 
mentally,  morally,  and  physically  equal  to  man  appears  to  me 
to  be  beyond  a  doubt.  The  question  is,  when  will  she  arrive 
at  this  equality  ?  Reasoning  with  the  rule  of  actuality,  no  man 
can  mark  the  point  of  future  time  at  which  this  "consumma- 
tion devoutly  to  be  wished"  will  be  attained.  So  many  lets 
and  hinderances  crowd  the  path  of  progress.  But,  measuring 
by  probabilities,  if  the  present  rate  of  woman's  development  is 
maintained,  the  attainment  of  equality  cannot  be  far  distant 
in  the  coming  centuries.  There  is  in  woman's  work,  as  many 
have  noted,  a  driving  earnestness  and  a  conscientious  concen- 

XVIII  [  21  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

tration  of  effort  which  far  transcend  the  apphcation  of  man, 
who  Hkcs  to  move  leisurely  and  with  due  attention  to  comfort 
and  relaxation.  This  deadly  earnestness  often  dries  up  the  sap 
of  humor  and  stumbles  for  want  of  imagination ;  but  its  driving 
force  is  enormous  and  enables  progress  to  cover  ground  in  a 
surprising  fashion.  Therefore  woman  will  not  require  all  the 
centuries  man  has  had  to  attain  a  proportionate  perfection, 
and  thereafter  she  will  overhaul  him  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
But,  it  may  be  asked,  is  it  not  probable  that  man's  rate  of  prog- 
ress may  be  accelerated  when  the  fear  of  competition  becomes 
present  to  his  imagination,  and  may  he  not  thus  defy  woman 
and  retain  his  present  lead?  He  may;  but  the  probabiHties 
are  against  it.  For  man's  progress  has  been  steady  and  natural, 
and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  its  velocity  could  be 
materially  accelei^ted.  Woman's  progress,  on  the  other  hand, 
has  been  "cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confm'd,"  and,  now  the  repression 
has  been  suddenly  withdrawn,  the  forward  leap  of  her  progress 
is  not  unlike  the  rebound  of  a  new  spring  that  has  long  been 
held  down  against  the  strong  impulse  of  its  potential  power. 
Now  she  is  free,  more  or  less,  woman  makes  haste  to  reap  the 
fruits  of  freedom,  and  her  haste  will  last  until  she  draws  level 
with  the  rights  and  powers  of  man.  Then  we  may  hope  with 
confidence — for  the  grounds  of  hope  are  apparent  even  now — 
certain  elements  of  her  character — whether  the  product  of  her 
sex-individuahty  or  her  pecuHar  fate  in  the  past,  it  is  impossible 
to  say  with  certainty — will  add  new  elements  to  the  character 
of  man,  drawing  in  exchange  new  elements  to  her  own.  There- 
after, and  as  a  happy  consequence,  the  velocity  of  their  joint 
progress  may  exceed  that  of  either  in  the  unregenerate  days  of 
sex-prejudice  and  sex-oppression. 

Finally,  who  will  gain  most  by  this  equality  of  the  sexes? 
Surely,  man  himself ;  for  there  is  little  exaggeration  in  Otway's 
panegyric  on  woman : 

"Nature made  thee 

To  temper  man ;  we  had  been  brutes  without  you. 

Angels  are  painted  fair,  to  look  like  you; 

There's  in  you  all  that  we  believe  of  heaven: 

Amazing  brightness,  purity,  and  truth, 

Eternal  joy,  and  everlasting  love. " 
XVIII  [  22  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

Those  advantages  which  the  days  of  woman's  suppression  gave 
to  man  were  poor  indeed — a  Uttle  self-complacency,  which  only 
detracted  from  the  dignity  of  his  manhood — a  little  glorifica- 
tion of  physical  superiority,  which  was  too  often  associated  with 
intellectual  inferiority — a  monopoly  of  avocations,  which  only 
loaded  him  with  the  burden  of  himself  maintaining  his  women 
relatives  or  seeing  them  humihated,  Uke  Ruth  Pinch,  by  the 
mortifications  of  shabby  genteel  dependence  upon  the  caprice 
of  insolent  vulgarity — or,  lastly,  the  pitiful  consciousness  of  an 
intellectual  superiority,  which  was  daily  and  hourly  revenged 
by  a  companionship  that  could  bring  neither  "sympathy,  with  his 
aims  and  aspirations  in  life,  nor  help  and  inspiration  in  the  day 
of  difficulty  and  defeat.  Of  all  the  joys  that  the  emancipation 
of  woman  has  brought  to  man,  surely  none  can  be  greater  than 
that  which  springs  from  the  life  companionship  of  an  intelli- 
gent and  cultivated  wife  and  the  devotion  of  daughters  endowed 
with  all  the  mental  and  physical  beauties  that  are  developed  by 
modern  education  in  place  of  the  mean  aspirations  and  futile 
follies  of  the  old  days  of  domesticity  and  deportment.  And 
when  woman  has  become  equal  to  man,  equal  in  every  sense, 
the  charm  and  happiness  of  the  new  companionship  will  per- 
meate every  walk  of  his  life.  Let  his  avocation  be  the  study 
of  "  the  floor  of  heaven,"  that's  "  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of 
bright  gold,"  a  study  fraught  with  the  loftiest  intellectual 
suggestion  and  the  charm  of  an  infinite  mystery  that  unfolds 
a  little  portion  of  its  wonders  day  by  day  and  yet  remains  as 
vast  and  incommensurate  as  ever.  How  deHghtful  it  will  be  for 
him  to  find  in  the  constant  companion  of  his  days  the  rational 
interest,  the  intelligent  sympathy  of  a  CaroHne  Herschell,  and  a 
help  as  ready  and  as  valuable  as  that  of  any  hireling  colleague, 
in  place  of  a  vacant  look  and  a  puzzled  frown,  or  the  irritating 
indifference  of  a  soul  that  cannot  soar  above  the  price  of  steak 
or  the  misdemeanors  of  a  witless  housemaid !  How  delightful 
it  will  be  to  traverse  with  a  companion  of  equal  intellect  and 
equal  culture  the  glorious  treasure-house  of  history  or  delve 
thus  aided  in  the  inexhaustible  mine  of  nature!  "The  soul's 
armor,"  says  Ruskin,  "is  never  well  set  to  the  heart  unless  a 
woman's  hand  has  braced  it."  There  is  no  path  now  trodden 
XVIII  [  23  ] 


UNIVERSAL   SUFFRAGE 

by  man  which  will  not  become  smoother,  brighter,  and  more 
richly  furnished  with  the  light  of  imagination,  the  bloom  of 
sentiment,  the  vigor  of  thought,  and  all  that  elevates  the  work 
of  reason  above  the  impulse  of  instinct,  by  the  companionship 
of  "earth's  noblest  thing,  a  woman  perfected."  The  married 
state,  so  often  now  but  little  removed  from  a  "  paidotrophic 
partnership,"  where,  after  the  first  bloom  of  passion  fades,  con- 
tempt and  bitterness  are  mitigated  only  by  the  pleasures  of  the 
lower  nature,  will  more  often  become,  as  sometimes  it  does  now, 
a  perfect  fusion  of  differing  but  equipollent  entities.  The  union 
of  these  two  will  add  to  the  treasure  of  the  state  a  third  more 
perfect  twofold  organism,  and  to  the  world -forces  which  are 
building  for  posterity  the  impetus  of  a  mighty  stream  that 
springs  from  the  union  of  two  noble  tributaries,  bearing  within 
its  bosom  a  double  fertihty  and  in  the  sweep  of  its  creating 
current  a  more  than  double  power. 


XVIII  [  24  ] 


XIX 


SOCIETY 

THE  ROLE   OF  WOMEN  IN  SOCIETY" 

BY 

LADY  MARY  PONSONBY 


T/f/E  have  endeavored  to  look  on  woman  intellectually  in 
^'^  her  relation  to  the  life  oj  to-day,  emotionally  in  her 
relation  to  man.  It  still  remains  to  consider  her  in  connection 
with  that  bewildering  organization  which  she  has  herself  built 
up  and  to  which,  instinctively  allowing  it  precedence  over  all 
other  social  problems,  we  give  the  general  name  oj  society — 
the  association  oj  human  beings  oj  the  ''upper  crust. ''^ 

In  America  we  have  no  very  clearly  established  cult  oj  aris- 
tocracy. It  is  true  that  the  newspapers  oj  one  great  city  or 
another  occasionally  rejer  to  their  own  particular  set  oj  money 
or  idleness,  as  ''society.'^  But  no  one  oj  the  groups  thus  dis- 
tinguished holds  any  special  influence  except  such  as  rises  jrom 
intellect  or  wealth,  oj  the  jormer  oj  which  they  have  assuredly 
no  monopoly,  while  the  other  is  usually  employed  much  more 
efjectually  outside  their  circle.  In  England,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  recognized  aristocracy  has  long  held  assured  control  oj  lije^s 
best  gijts.  Lady  Mary  Ponsonby,  herselj  a  firmly  established 
member  oj  this  javored  class,  is  therejore  appealed  to  here  to 
explain  to  us  the  meaning  oj  this  social  world,  ''the  ladies^ 
world, ^''  in  its  past,  its  present,  and  its  juture. 

They  were  very   delightful,  those   Frenchwomen   of   the 

eighteenth  century.     They  were  witty,   clever,  unscrupulous; 

often  very  loyal,  always  very  powerful,  as  acknowledged  rulers 

of  their  house  or  salon,  and  of  Society.     Their  political  opin- 

XIX  [  I  ] 


SOCIETY 

ions  were  hopelessly  wrong,  but  not  more  so  than  those  of  the 
men  of  the  time. 

Why  did  they  possess  a  power  denied  to  their  English 
contemporaries;  or  rather  held  by  these  in  far  less  strength? 
One  might  inquire  why  Society  in  France  in  the  eighteenth 
century  shows  to  that  of  England  in  the  present  day  so  many 
points  of  resemblance.  It  might  be  diverting,  but  unfore- 
seen difficulties  forbid  a  close  comparison.  Differences  of  tra- 
dition, of  surroundings,  of  education  are  to  be  met  with  at 
every  turn;  yet  the  analogy  is  at  moments  so  exact  that  it 
should  be  possible,  by  keeping  the  respective  threads  of  re- 
semblance and  dissimilarity  clear  and  untangled,  to  arrive  at 
a  fairly  true  presentment. 

The  psychological,  physiological,  analytical  introspective 
method  has  been  done  to  death.  In  studies  of  this  order, 
even  of  the  first  rank,  let  us  say  such  as  M.  Bourget's  Cos- 
mopolis  or  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward's  Marcella^  the  author  acts 
too  much  as  showman;  you  cannot  get  rid  of  his  presence; 
he  or  she  is  forever  looking  over  your  shoulder,  pointing  out 
how  you  ought  to  see  this  and  detect  the  other.  The  value 
of  impartiality  in  an  artist  has  often  been  pointed  out,  and 
this  rare  quality  he  best  shows  by  leaving  it  to  the  spectator 
to  form  his  own  judgment  on  what  he  sees,  giving  him  no 
clue  and  pursuing  him  with  no  comment.  This  impartiality 
is  more  likely  to  be  ours  if  we  gather  our  information  of  a  past 
epoch  from  contemporary  memoirs,  letters,  and  individual 
sayings,  rather  than  from  comments  and  disquisitions  in  which 
the  place  of  critic  and  exponent  takes  up  too  much  room. 
As  a  rule,  however,  it  must  be  owned  that  a  French  writer 
rarely  over-explains.  In  England  we  have  improved  in  this 
respect,  but  we  are  still  harassed  by  the  over-expHcit  writer 
of  biography.  It  is  true,  certain  young  and  clever  authors 
are  drifting  away  from  this  position,  perhaps  too  far,  into  a 
"green  carnation"  and  cheaply  paradoxical  vein  of  impres- 
sional  writing;  yet  the  general  public  likes  explanation,  and, 
to  please  it,  explanations  rounded  with  literary  platitudes  are 
reeled  off.  On  the  stage,  this  mania  for  explanation,  this 
craving  for   diffuse   details,    produces   a  still   more   offensive 

XIX  [  2  ] 


SOCIETY 

state  of  things.  In  order  that  the  inevitable  and  satisfactory 
denouement  should  be  rightly  understood,  it  has  been  found 
sometimes  necessary  to  add  an  act  to  an  English  adaptation 
of  a  French  play,  so  that  nothing  may  be  left  to  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  audience.  But,  in  the  present  inquiry,  in  spite 
of  our  wish  to  leave  the  ordinary  reader  to  his  unbiassed  judg- 
ment, it  is  impossible,  even  in  a  slight  sketch  on  so  knotty 
and  intricate  a  question  as  the  role  played  by  women  in  past 
and  present  times,  to  ignore  what  has  been  written  by  some 
of  our  would-be  teachers.  When,  for  instance,  some  few 
years  ago,  Mrs.  Lynn  Linton  made  a  series  of  fierce  but  able 
attacks  on  the  champions  of  women's  rights,  she  little  guessed 
that  that  object  of  her  particular  scorn — the  new  woman — 
would  be  as  extinct  as  the  ichthyosaurus  before  the  end  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  or  that  the  inference  she  drew  points 
to  a  source  of  power  in  the  famous  women  in  the  past  which, 
if  analyzed,  she  would  have  been  the  first  to  reject.  Mrs. 
Lynn  Linton  in  her  accounts  of  the  women  of  Rome  and 
Greece  admits  that  their  power  was,  in  the  main,  in  propor- 
tion to  their  frailty.  This  granted — and  that  there  is  no  way 
of  accounting  for  it,  except  by  allowing  for  the  different  stand- 
ard of  morality  then  prevalent  or  by  the  fact  that  love  in  its 
sensual  aspect  will  ever  prove  itself  the  strongest  factor  in  the 
art  of  ruUng  man — then  there  is  an  end  of  the  controversy. 

This  sceptre  Frenchwomen  wielded  almost  irresistibly  in 
the  eighteenth  century.  Their  reign  was  still  more  remark- 
able in  the  seventeenth,  but,  except  to  glance  at  the  qualities 
derived  by  our  eighteenth- century  friends  from  their  prede- 
cessors, we  must  refrain  from  dwelHng  on  the  never-faiHng 
interest  and  charms  of  Mesdames  de  Sevigne,  de  Lafayette, 
de  Maintenon,  etc.  The  pedantic  tone  of  the  Hotel  Ram- 
bouillet  was  gradually  abandoned  after  the  appearance  of 
Les  Femmes  Savantes  and  Les  Precieuses  Ridicules.  After 
a  while,  nobody  in  Society  durst  indulge  in  long  and  wordy 
jeux  d' esprit.  For  all  th  it,  a  shadow  of  the  old  pedantry 
darkened  the  social  sky  at  intervals.  Mazarin's  nieces,  es- 
pecially Marie  Mancini,  Princesse  de  Colonna,  and  la  Du- 
chesse  de  Mazarin,  brought  Itahan  exaggeration  to  bear  on 
XIX  [  3  ] 


SOCIETY 

French  frivolity,  and  the  result  was  not  a  happy  one;  but 
it  is  in  the  picture  of  the  Cour  de  Sccaux  that  the  acme  of 
stilted  and,  at  the  same  time,  puerile  and  extravagant  arti- 
ficiaHty  seems  to  have  been  reached. 

The  manner  of  life  of  this  Court,  inspired  by  the  Duchessc 
du  Maine,  as  described  in  the  memoirs  of  the  day,  fully  de- 
serves this  description.  She  paid  her  satelHtes  to  be  amusing, 
but  amusing  in  the  mode  she  prescribed.  Amused  she  would 
be,  by  day  and  by  night,  and  every  one  had  to  contribute  to 
this  hunt  for  happiness  through  what  would  appear  to  the 
uninitiated  as  the  very  tedious  paths  of  madrigals,  sonnets, 
bouts-rimes,  in  which  the  Httle  Duchesse  appeared  sometimes 
as  Venus,  sometimes  as  Minerva,  now  as  a  nymph,  then  as  a 
siren.  On  n'avait  jamais  une  heure  devant  soi  pour  Mre  bete 
en  paix;  but  the  Hghter  recreations  of  poetical  invitations  to 
dinner,  of  anonymous  compliments  inserted  in  a  bouquet, 
of  laborious  pleasantries  which  weary  the  soul  even  to  hear 
of,  began  to  pall  on  the  chatelaine  of  Sceaux.  Acting  became 
the  rage,  and  the  indefatigable  Duchesse  divided  her  time 
between  the  stage  and  assiduous  studies  in  astronomy,  philos- 
ophy, and  the  classics.  Needless  to  say,  each  pursuit  and 
study  was  followed  under  the  special  guidance  of  the  favorite 
reigning  in  that  department.  Among  the  Duchesse  du  Maine's 
intellectual  disciples — let  us  put  it  so — she  at  one  time  could 
boast  of  Voltaire,  who,  having  quarrelled  with  the  authori- 
ties, took  refuge  at  Sceaux.  He  was  hidden  away  in  a  room 
apart,  with  closed  shutters,  and  there  he  remained  for  two 
months.  In  the  daytime  he  amused  himself  by  writing  his 
contes,  and  during  the  night  he  joined  the  Duchesse  and  her 
friends  in  their  celebrations  of  les  grandes  nuits  de  Sceaux. 
These  diversions  of  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  appear  to  have 
been  more  innocent  than  their  title  would  imply.  The  form 
this  amusement  took  made  so  severe  a  call  on  the  Hterary 
capacity  of  those  engaged  in  it  that  even  scandal  finds  no 
place  in  the  record  of  these  nocturnal  orgies.  All  the  ardor, 
misplaced  energy,  the  Duchesse  had  spent  on  fruitless  political 
intrigues  and  small  hole-and-corner  conspiracies  she  now  di- 
verted to  this  frantic  struggle  against  ennui.  Her  sleepless- 
XIX  [  4  ] 


SOCIETY 

ness  was  what  led  her  to  turn  night  into  day,  and  the  guests, 
exhausted  with  games,  madrigal-turning,  sonnet- composing, 
and  perhaps,  who  shall  say,  love-making,  implored  with  no 
effect  for  a  moment's  peace  during  the  gorgeous  breakfasts 
served  to  them  at  sunrise;  but  the  rule  held  good,  in  spite 
of  a  sleepless  night,  de  Pesprit,  encore  de  Pesprit,  toujours  de 
Vesprit.  With  the  arrival  of  Voltaire  and  Madame  du  Chate- 
let  the  programme  was  altered,  and  tragedies,  operas,  ballets, 
farces,  took  the  place  of  less  ambitious  pastimes.  Madame 
du  Chatelet  evidently  bored  Madame  du  Maine  consid- 
erably with  her  mathematics,  her  translations  of  Newton's 
works,  her  geometrical  problems  strewn  over  every  avail- 
able table  in  the  comfortable  reception-rooms;  so  Madame 
du  Maine  swept  away  the  learned  rubbish  and  insisted  on 
forcing  Madame  du  Chatelet  on  to  the  stage,  and  making  her 
take  an  active  part  in  the  private  theatricals.  These,  under 
the  new  direction,  became  a  scene  of  indiscriminate  social 
license;  Voltaire  and  Madame  du  Chatelet  inviting  every  one, 
known  and  unknown,  to  the  Theatre  de  Sceaux,  so  that  a  dis- 
turbance took  place  which  threatened  to  break  up  the  whole 
concern.  Voltaire  pleaded,  wrote,  faltered,  and  won  his  way 
back  into  favor,  begging  that  the  protecting  genius,  the  soul 
of  Corneille,  the  spirit  of  the  great  Conde,  would  deign  to  be 
his  literary  Egeria;  and  all  ended  well.  The  little  Duchesse 
forgave  and  retained  her  star.  She  pursued  her  way  un- 
daunted, and  her  seventy-seventh  birthday  found  her  still 
hard  at  work,  amusing  herself,  vexed  now  and  then  at  the 
abrupt  departure  of  some  of  her  friends  for  the  next  world, 
but  observing  at  the  same  time  that  after  all  it  was  less  an- 
noying than  to  keep  her  waiting  for  an  entertainment  or  a 
card  party.  Perhaps  her  rank  and  her  behef  in  the  divinity 
of  royal  blood  prevented  the  parties  at  Sceaux  from  being 
quite  accurately  typical  of  the  artificial  and  pedantic  salon 
which  survived  long  after  the  Hotel  Rambouillet  had  been 
swept  away.  Be  this  as  it  may,  one  impression  is  worth  noting 
— that  not  a  trace  of  the  love  of  the  natural  to  be  found  even 
in  the  most  pedantic  and  pompous  moment  of  the  grand  sihcle 
can  be  detected  in  the  social  atmosphere  of  Sceaux.  We 
XIX  [  5  ] 


SOCIETY 

have  seen  that  some  interest  in  that  miniature  Court  was  de- 
rived from  the  flavor  and  point  which  Voltaire's  sayings  and 
doings  always  seem  to  carry  with  them;  but  how  incapable 
were  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  and  her  friends  of  the  enthu- 
siastic appreciation  of  Lafontaine  by  Madame  de  Sevigne  and 
her  friends,  Madame  de  Bouillon,  Madame  de  la  SabHere,  etc. ! 
Their  admiration  is  more  striking  than  the  homage  paid  him 
by  Moliere,  Racine,  and  La  Rochefoucauld,  who,  of  course, 
having  le  flair  litteraire  in  a  supreme  degree,  detected  the 
master  poet  and  writer,  in  spite  of  his  extraordinary  simplicity. 
Madame  de  Sevigne  and  her  friends  loved  him  for  this  sim- 
pHcity.  I  do  not  know  whether  Madame  de  Maintenon  was 
one  of  this  group,  but  she  certainly  felt  the  reaction  toward 
the  natural  and  the  actual  that  she  is  always  insisting  upon 
in  her  correspondence.  Here  we  shake  off  the  long  and  wordy 
jeux  cf esprit;  the  tedious  and  rounded  periods  gave  way  to 
short  and  witty  epigrams.  These  were  the  direct  offpring 
of  La  Rochefoucauld's  maxims.  Women  decided  it  was 
wicked  to  be  bored.  A  hushed  whisper  to  this  effect  soon 
found  its  way  into  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  Court.  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenon,  who,  it  may  be  shrewdly  suspected,  put 
on  the  airs  of  a  pedant  to  avoid  tiresome  functions,  gave  her 
rival,  Madame  de  Montespan,  enough  to  do  when  the  latter 
attempted  to  answer  the  governess's  sarcasms  on  the  empty 
silhness  of  the  lives  of  the  courtiers;  and  Madame  de  Mon- 
tespan always  got  the  worst  of  the  encounter. 

The  good-humored  but  very  distinct  aversion  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne  to  bores  inspired  some  of  her  wittiest  letters  and 
her  most  brilhant  epigrams.  The  joyousness  of  her  tone 
(Ninon  de  Lenclos  said  of  her  wit,  ''La  joie  de  I'esprit  en  fait 
la  force  "^)  took  the  sting  out  of  the  dart.  She  gave  the  word 
in  favor  of  brightness  and  she  damned  heaviness.  The  notes 
of  her  friend  Madame  de  Lafayette  on  La  Rochefoucauld 
outdid  his  very  maxims  in  brevity  and  pith,  and  very  good 
advice  these  ladies  gave  their  friends  on  style.     Madame  de 

Coigny,  in  a  letter  to  Mademoiselle  X ,  "lui  rccommandc 

de  prendre  des  notes  sur  la  lecture";  "d'ecrire  ses  pensees  c'est 

1  "  The  joy  of  wit  makes  its  power." 
XIX  [  6  ] 


SOCIETY 

une  fagon  de  savoir  si  on  est  bete.  .  .  .  Penser  ses  lectures, 
ne  pas  lire  commc  si  on  mangeait  des  cerises."^  Their  games 
even  had  become  racy  and  amusing.  One  of  the  most  di- 
verting was  the  game  of  portraits,  when  each  member  of  an 
assembled  company,  after  taking  the  oath  of  sincerity,  was 
bound  to  write  a  truthful  account  of  himself  in  a  few  Hnes. 
To  relate  the  disputes  and  corrections  evolved  by  these  worded 
portraits  would  take  us  too  far  from  our  present  purpose. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  ground  for  the  reign  of  fair  women 
of  the  eighteenth  century  was  well  prepared.  The  rule  of 
la  parjaite  bonne  compagnie  was  established  in  the  absence 
of  all  moral  law,  and  became  an  authority  from  which  there 
was  no  appeal.  The  note  of  perfect  and  sincere  politeness, 
the  distinction  in  speech,  manner,  and  expression,  became  a 
kind  of  freemasonry  protecting  the  admitted  members  from 
any  intrusion  from  without.  The  acquirements  of  a  perfect 
manner  may  seem  but  a  trivial  aim;  but  when  we  find  the  code 
of  rules  to  be  observed  to  include  delicacy  of  touch  in  deahng 
with  the  feelings  of  others,  a  readiness  of  perception  as  to 
what  would  cause  offence,  the  avoidance  of  all  unnecessary 
friction,  the  art  of  praising  without  flattery,  of  showing  off 
the  merits  of  others  without  appearing  to  protect  them;  and 
if  you  add  to  these  characteristics  the  charm  of  ease  and  nat- 
uralness, and  the  feeling  that  air,  manner,  and  speech  com- 
bine to  convey  graceful  and  intelligent  kindness,  you  feel  in- 
clined to  agree  with  the  author  quoted  by  the  De  Goncourts 
who  compared  the  spirit  of  good  society  at  that  time  with  the 
spirit  of  charity,  a  bold  comparison,  a  Httle  in  the  way  of  a 
very  modern  saying  that  defines  "tact  as  inspiration  in  small 
things." 

And  so  this  code  of  gentle  manners  and  conduct,  rigor- 
ously enforced,  supported  the  more  important  fabric  of  the 
law  of  honor — the  law  from  which  there  is  no  appeal,  the 
last  rehgion  of  France.  From  the  grand  utterance,  "Tout  est 
perdu  fors  I'honneur,"  to  the  present  day  there  have  been 

^"  Would   suggest   taking   notes  of  one's  reading;  to  write  one's 
thoughts  is  a  way  to  see  if  one  is  stupid.  .  .  .  Think  over  your  reading, 
do  not  read  as  if  you  were  eating  cherries." 
XIX  [  7  ] 


SOCIETY 

doubtless  violations  of  that  code;  and  it  is,  perhaps,  ridiculed 
by  those  who  would  rather  sneer  at  it  than  account  for  it. 
In  England  and  in  France  to-day  it  is  running  some  risk  of 
extinction  from  the  worship  of  money,  but  human  nature  as 
we  find  it  in  the  average  gentleman  has  still  an  unconscious 
love  of  the  ideal  as  represented  in  the  point  of  honor.  In 
England  we  prefer  the  men  found  dead  with  the  colors  of 
their  regiment  wrapped  around  them,  to  the  reformers  who 
cynically  advise  the  disuse  of  the  flag  as  a  useless  colored  rag. 
In  France,  in  spite  of  the  destructives  who  are  ready  to  cry 
"A  bas  la  patrie!  A  bas  I'honneur!"  the  current  opinion  of 
honest  men  flows  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  view  that 
the  complaisant  husband  is  the  lowest  animal  extant,  that  to 
be  mercenary  in  love  is  vile,  that  to  hold  up  even  the  caprice 
of  a  woman  to  the  ridicule  of  one's  friends  is  ignominious, 
is  still  held,  as  a  matter  of  course,  by  men  of  honor,  at  the 
same  time  that  they  are  unconscious  of  the  source  from  w^hich 
it  springs.  It  is  a  truth  of  all  time  that  men  are  slow  to  recog- 
nize what  they  owe  to  beliefs  they  may  have  shaken  off,  but 
which  control  their  instincts,  after  the  expression  of  such  be- 
liefs in  set  form  has  ceased  to  compel  their  assent  and  to  em- 
body their  convictions. 

In  the  eighteenth  century  the  code  of  honor  was  enforced 
in  vigorous  and  uncompromising  terms,  and  it  is  for  this 
reason  that  we  find  it  regulating  the  lives  of  women  strongly, 
if  indirectly.  In  some  respects  it  might  seem  that  the  honor 
of  women  had  never  been  so  hghtly  regarded,  and  that  un- 
bounded hcense  reigned  supreme;  but,  if  we  look  more  closely 
into  the  matter,  we  shall  find  it  not  exactly  true.  To  gener- 
alize in  this  way  would  be  as  misleading  as  if,  looking  back 
still  further,  we  were  to  regard  the  rough  and  brutal  manners 
in  the  days  of  La  Fronde  as  the  essential  feature  of  the  time. 
At  first  sight  it  seems  difficult  to  believe  that  the  code  of  honor 
and  morahty  of  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  that  day  was  based 
upon  a  strong  behef  in  themselves.  But  so  it  was.  The 
''Gentleman,"  as  he  is  called  in  Marguerite  de  Navarre's 
heptameron,  never  doubted  that  success  in  love,  be  it  ever 
so  unlawful,  must  be  accomplished,  and  the  lady's  consent 
XIX  [  8  ] 


SOCIETY 

was  rarely  questioned;  but  if  she  proved  severely  virtuous, 
death  made  the  disappointed  lover  interesting  for  all  time. 
The  crudities,  even  the  indecencies,  were  never  vicious,  and 
the  whole  atmosphere  was  charged  with  more  vitality  and 
strength  than  can  be  found  with  their  descendants  two  hun- 
dred years  later. 

But,  in  judging  the  standard  of  conduct  in  the  days  of 
these  descendants,  we  must  allow  as  broad  a  margin  for  the 
spirit  of  the  times  as  we  find  ourselves  giving  their  predecessors. 
Let  us  take  their  views  on  marriage.  In  marriage,  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  there  was  Httle  conception  of  a  solemnity, 
still  less  of  a  sacrament.  In  exceptional  instances,  in  the 
days  of  the  Marguerites  of  Navarre  and  Valois,  we  find  the 
atmosphere  of  crime  and  Hcense  Hghtened  by  redeeming  traits 
of  high  loyalty  and  devotion,  and  by  a  distinct  note  of  poetry 
and  rehgion;  but  no  such  gleams  illumined  their  descendants; 
yet  we  must  allow  that  a  conventional  sense  of  honor  per- 
sisted, and  it  led  to  curious  contradictions  in  its  apphcation. 
The  manage  de  convenance  et  non  dHnclination  was  as  much 
the  rule  of  good  French  society  in  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries,  a  rule  admitted  and  applauded,  as  it  is,  in 
spite  of  denials  and  disclaimers,  in  the  England  of  to-day. 

Examples  show  that  there  was  observed  a  code  of  honor 
in  dishonor  as  it  were,  an  unwritten  law  the  breaking  of  which 
brought  the  inevitable  penalty  of  ostracism.  The  limits  of  a 
husband's  forbearance  were  strictly  defined,  and  the  net  re- 
sult of  the  restraint  which  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  ap- 
pearances entailed  was  that  a  mystery  of  romance  environed 
a  woman  who  was  known  to  live  a  separate  existence  from 
the  man  whose  name  she  bore.  A  passion  faithful  and  deep 
might  be  found  to  be  the  key  to  all  that  was  best  in  her  exist- 
ence. '  Some,  no  doubt,  were  shameless,  but  they  derived  from 
les  jemmes  galantes  of  the  sixteenth  century;  and  even  among 
these,  recklessness,  but  not  commonness,  was  the  main  factor 
in  their  adventurous  lives.  Some  were  simply  excellent  and 
devoted  wives,  like  the  Duchesse  de  Choiseul,  who  had  never, 
she  said,  been  able  to  conceive  greater  perfection  in  mind  or 
body  than  could  be  found  in  her  very  fickle  lord, 
XIX  [  9  ] 


SOCIETY 

It  was  the  prerogative  of  the  mother,  and  the  mother 
alone,  to  direct  the  conduct  not  only  of  her  daughters,  but 
of  her  sons.  A  young  man,  says  M.  de  Segur,  who  failed  in 
respectful  attention  to  a  woman,  or  to  a  man  older  than  him- 
self, knew  that  the  fact  would  be  reported  to  his  mother  that 
very  evening.  I  forget  whether  it  was  the  Due  de  Niver- 
nais  or  the  Prince  de  Ligne  who,  upon  being  asked  his  per- 
mission by  his  sons  to  organize  a  fete  champetre  or  some  such 
entertainment,  pointed  to  their  disordered  dress  after  a  day's 
chase  and  said:  "When  you  have  made  yourselves  fit  to  enter 
your  mother's  apartment  and  have  obtained  her  leave,  I  will 
confirm  it." 

And  so  the  rule  of  women  became  the  principle  on  which 
rested,  not  only  the  government  of  the  family,  but  also  the 
control  of  the  State.  The  spontaneous  and  natural  note  which 
strikes  one  in  all  these  women  did  and  said,  the  right  royal 
power  they  wielded  by  reason  of  the  high  level  of  their  in- 
telligence— this  power  acknowledged  by  all  and  justifying 
their  unbounded  ambition — had  for  its  foundation  charm  and 
strength;  but  charm  gradually  fades  and  strength  becomes 
weakness  in  the  downward  course.  The  proceedings  at  the 
Court  of  Sceaux  show  the  dark  side  of  the  picture,  and  it  is 
painful  to  discern  the  beginning  of  the  bad  taste,  the  exag- 
geration, and  the  other  symptoms  of  disordered  brains  which, 
as  the  century  waxed  older,  seemed  to  characterize  the  be- 
wildered women  who  succeeded  the  refined,  intelligent  spiri- 
tuelleSj  though  often  profligate  ladies,  whose  education  was 
begun  at  the  Convent  of  L'Abbaye-aux-Bois.  The  woman 
who  could  reign  undisputed  over  husband,  lover,  or  king  was 
unable  to  cope  with  the  attack  on  Society  by  the  new  destruc- 
tive forces  of  the  intellectual  world,  and  fell  into  a  more  and 
more  hopeless  condition  and  became  a  helpless  prey  to  her 
nerves.  The  feverish  pursuit  of  pleasure,  the  ceaseless  round 
of  gatherings,  brilUant  and  pointed  with  wit,  but  desperately 
exhausting  in  the  long  run,  filled  every  hour  of  the  day  and 
night,  and  led,  needless  to  say,  to  the  worst  form  of  reaction, 
the  falling  back  on  self  and  finding  nothing  there.  Hence 
the  demon,  called  by  them  in  their  despair  l^ennemij  took  up 

XIX  [  TO  ] 


SOCIETY 

his  abode  in  them.  The  secret  enemy,  the  incurable  com- 
plaint, the  unconquerable  and  ever-present  foe  they  dragged 
smihngly  about  with  them.  This  foe  became  the  motive 
power  of  all  their  exertions,  of  all  their  ill-nature,  and  of  their 
love  of  scandal;  this  gave  zest  to  their  intrigues,  for  to  believe 
themselves  amused,  they  thought,  might  shake  off  the  ob- 
session. But  no,  they  could  not  escape  it;  the  disgust  of 
self,  of  friends,  of  society,  even  of  solitude,  persisted. 

La  grande  ennuyee,  Madame  du  Deffand,  tells  us  that  the 
bore  of  soHtude  is  the  most  overwhelming  and  crushing  form 
of  ennui.  This  downward  course  was  marked  by  stages  which 
have  a  strange  likeness  to  phases  of  social  life  in  England 
at  the  present  day.  The  description  of  these  vagaries  ap- 
pears in  most  of  the  letters  and  memoirs  of  that  day.  MM. 
de  Goncourt  have  perhaps  collected  more  material  than  any 
other  modern  author  on  the  mode  of  hfe  of  the  eighteenth- 
century  fin-de-siecle  women.  One  of  the  points  they  insist 
on  is  the  dryness  .of  spirit  and  want  of  heart  preceding  the 
outbursts  of  maudlin  sentimentality  and  affectation  of  tender- 
ness which  became  the  fashion;  also  the  exaggerated  mani- 
festations of  friendship  between  women.  Hymns  to  friend- 
ship, altars  to  friendship,  eternal  vows  of  constancy  became 
the  vogue;  also  an  exchange  of  love  tokens,  of  colored  em- 
blematic knots,  etc.,  the  messenger  employed  to  convey  these 
being  some  effeminate  man,  who,  content  with  the  gossiping 
companionship  of  the  young  married  woman,  made  it  often 
his  business  to  prepare  the  way  for  another's  more  signal  suc- 
cess in  rousing  interest  to  the  point  of  a  real  serious  liaison. 
The  path  the  young  woman  followed  is  defined  with  clear- 
ness. In  the  beginning,  an  absorbing  friendship  taken  up 
at  first  as  a  means  of  showing  off  a  conquest  before  rivals; 
this  languished,  and  all  of  a  sudden  became  unattractive  when 
the  little  man's  visits  found  her  alone  with  no  public  to  ad- 
mire her  triumph.  We  are  assuming,  of  course,  that  she  had 
not  the  faintest  inchnation  to  flirt  in  earnest  with  her  com- 
panion; but  if  the  man  was  skilful  the  moment  quickly  came 
when  a  mere  friendly  gossip  gradually  led  to  intimate  discus- 
sion on  the  ways  of  love,  the  absurdities  of  husbands,  with 
XIX  [  1 1  ] 


SOCIETY 

compromising  confidences  and  vainglorious  hints  on  the  part 
of  the  would-be  lover,  followed  by  more  or  less  naive  admis- 
sions of  former  successes  from  the  newly  married  lady.  Often 
she  was  wholly  unconscious  of  danger,  had  no  evil  intention; 
but  the  spark  of  coquetry,  never  very  difficult  to  kindle  into 
flame,  would  suddenly  take  fire,  her  imagination  would  be 
stirred,  and  gradually  the  harmless  badinage  and  fun  would 
take  another  aspect,  and  another  guileless  spirit  would  be 
plunged  into  fathomless  trouble.  It  is  not  very  clear  whether 
MM.  de  Goncourt,  who  give  us  the  most  interesting  examples 
of  these  semi-platonic  love  affairs,  think  the  devoted  woman 
friend  or  the  complaisant  chien-de-poche  kind  of  man  the  more 
dangerous  confidant.  What  they  have  no  doubt  about  ap- 
pears to  be  that  religion,  marriage,  and  love  are  equally  power- 
less to  influence  these  eighteenth  century-ladies.  Exceptional 
devotion  in  religion,  deep  attachment  in  marriage,  and  pas- 
sionate loyalty  in  love  arc  to  be  found  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, but  no  trace  of  anything  of  the  kind  can  be  detected  in 
the  eighteenth.  Happiness  in  religion  was  out  of  date;  a  well 
regulated  aspect  of  mild  devotion  at  Mass  was  held  to  be 
part  of  good  manners,  even  with  the  indifferent  and  the  scepti- 
cal, and  it  was  easier  to  assume  that  aspect  than  to  scoff. 
Happiness  in  marriage,  said  Society,  was  ridiculous  and  dis- 
tinctly plebeian.  Happiness  in  love  was  unknown,  and  a  grande 
passion,  whether  fortunate  or  the  reverse,  was  foolishness. 
All  three — religion,  marriage,  and  love — would,  in  the  cur- 
rent language  of  the  time,  prove  to  be  "le  neant." 

The  utter  absence  of  naturalness  that  we  have  noted  be- 
fore became  more  and  more  accentuated;  not  a  trace  of  real 
feehng,  not  a  breath  of  freshness,  not  a  gleam  of  Hght  could 
be  detected  in  this  loaded  atmosphere  in  which  poor  human 
beings  groped,  seeking  vainly  to  find  they  knew  not  what, 
and  drifting  vainly  toward  their  melancholy  end.  Of  course 
this  state  of  things  reacted  on  the  physical  condition  of  these 
women.  They  suffered  acutely  from  weakness,  overstrung 
nerves,  melancholia,  and  vapors.  "Les  vapeurs  c'cst  I'cn- 
nui,"  said  Madame  d'Epinay;  and  this  although  the  sufferers 
were  spared  neither  ridicule  nor  epigrams,  and  their  imagi- 

XIX  [  12  ] 


SOCIETY 

nary  ills  were  branded  as  affectations  and  exaggerations.  A 
more  acute  observer^  suggests  that  they  were  simply  suffer- 
ing intensely  from  the  great  malady  of  over-civilization,  the 
increase  of  nervous  disease,  secret  hypochondria,  and,  above 
all,  from  the  terrible  curse  of  that  mysterious  evil  hysteria. 
The  doctors  now  came  upon  the  scene  and  insisted  upon  a 
change  of  regime.  This  somewhat  modified  the  evil,  and  a 
more  wholesome  programme  ensued.  Fresh  air  was  pre- 
scribed by  the  great  Doctor  Tronchin,^  and  to  dig  in  the  gar- 
dens, to  take  violent  exercise,  to  pursue  some  object,  and  to 
work  at  some  occupation  hitherto  unknown  became  the  order 
of  the  day;  and  these  pursuits  were  undertaken  with  the 
feverish  excitement  Society  women  had  formerly  shown  in 
ransacking  their  gay  world  in  search  of  a  new  amusement 
or  a  new  distraction.  The  study  of  science,  of  natural  his- 
tory, of  physics,  even  of  metaphysics,  filled  the  days  and  nights 
in  the  place  of  coquettish  rivalries,  of  every  form  of  amusement, 
and  of  the  very  fanaticism  of  pleasure.  The  mad  appetite 
for  pleasure  was  succeeded  by  an  equal  ardor  for  knowledge, 
and  it  is  evident  there  was  as  little  reality  in  this  new  search 
for  happiness  as  there  had  been  in  the  old.  We  no  longer 
find  the  fair  ladies  affecting  languor  and  exhaustion,  perhaps 
having  persuaded,  as  somebody  said  Madame  d'Estarbey  did, 
the  doctor  to  bleed  them,  to  give  their  looks  a  kind  of  delicate 
and  sentimental  interest;  but  their  very  attitude  was  changed. 
See,  we  now  find  them  in  a  costume  of  stern  simphcity,  pale, 
with  no  trace  of  rouge,  their  eyes  heavy  with  fatigue  from 
brain  work,  the  brow  resting  carelessly  on  the  right  hand, 
with  a  general  look  of  undisturbed  attention.  This  was,  in- 
deed, a  new  picture,  and  when  at  last  they  were  roused  they 
were  no  longer  to  be  found  as  of  yore  flitting  from  fair  to  opera, 
from  jewellers'  to  milhners'  shops.  Now  courses  of  political 
study,  of  philosophical  systems,  of  scientific  theories,  took  up 
the  spare  hours,  and,  scarcely  less  exhausted  than  they  had 
been  before  with  frivoHty,  they  slept  but  a  few  hours,  to  re- 
sume next  day  their  arduous  and  self-imposed  task. 

1  See  M^moires  de  la  Comtesse  de  Boufjiers. 
^See  Les  Sports  de  I'Ancienne  France  by  Jusserand. 
XIX  '  [  13 1 


SOCIETY 

And  now  we  must  leave  our  French  friends,  and  with  re- 
gret we  do  so.  There  is  something  pathetic  in  the  way  those 
who  formed  French  Society  hastened  on  to  their  doom,  in  a 
wholly  unconscious  way.  They  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
coming  catastrophe.  It  was  as  well  they  did  not  foresee  the 
Reign  of  Terror;  but  when  it  came  they  met  their  fate  coura- 
geously. 

We  must  now  turn  to  the  English  compeers  of  the  French- 
women of  the  seventeenth  century.  Here,  till  we  get  to  the 
crucial  point  of  the  comparison,  we  shall  find  the  task  of  sus- 
taining the  interest  somewhat  difficult.  For  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied that  the  Frenchwomen  of  the  seventeenth  century  were 
more  interesting  than  the  ancestors  of  the  Enghshwomen  of 
the  eighteenth.  During  the  epochs  under  notice,  the  eighteenth 
century  in  France  and  the  nineteenth  in  England,  the  charm 
as  in  the  seventeenth  century  remains  with  France  until  we 
get  to  the  end  of  both  centuries,  when  the  likeness  between 
the  women  of  the  two  centuries  became  very  close.  At  their 
best  the  EngHsh  of  the  eighteenth  century  seems  to  be  too 
nearly  a  repHca  of  their  French  contemporaries  to  be  very 
arresting;  but  it  is  worth  considering  how  a  certain  view  of 
tradition  derived  from  the  latter  can  be  traced  to  the  end  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  There  is  also  the  temptation  to  linger 
over  contemporary  letters  and  memoirs,  of  which  we  have  a 
good  supply.  Horace  Walpole,  deahng  out  his  criticism  and 
sharpening  his  wit  on  Lady  Mary  W.  Montagu's  ugly  man- 
ners and  Lady  Craven's  spitefulness,  brings  into  full  light 
many  details  of  these  ladies'  lives  they  Httle  guessed  would 
ever  see  the  light.  This  rather  adds  to  the  pleasure  of  read- 
ing what  they  carefully  prepared  for  publication,  for  one  does 
so  with  a  liberal  discount.  There  are  moments  when  Lady 
Mary  fearlessly  exposes  the  folhes  of  foreign  Courts.  "One 
foundation  of  these  everlasting  disputes,"  she  writes,  "turns 
entirely  upon  rank,  place,  and  the  tide  of  Excellency";  and 
in  other  letters  she  gives  a  graphic  description  of  the  follies 
and  futilities  of  English  society,  concerning  which  she  seems 
to  show  more  insight  than  her  celebrated  censor.  And  the 
same  may  be  said  of  Lady  Craven,  who,  however,  was  by  no 
XIX  [  14  ] 


SOCIETY 

means  on  the  same  level  as  her  rival;  but  if  she  failed,  as 
Horace  Walpolc  said  she  did,  to  understand  Lady  Mary's  best 
points,  she  was  her  equal  in  accurate  dehneation.  For  in- 
stance, in  her  letters  to  the  Margrave  of  Anspach,  whom  she 
afterward  married,  she  speaks  of  the  misrule  of  the  unspeak- 
able Turk,  of  the  discomfort  and  absurd  ceremonials  of  the 
small  Italian  Courts;  and  the  whole  of  her  correspondence  is 
seasoned  with  a  fine  insular  savor  of  admiration  for  British 
freedom  and  British  comfort,  expressed  in  forcible  and  epi- 
grammatic terms.  Horace  Walpole  might,  with  his  exaggera- 
tion and  cosmopoHtanism  and  his  surrender  through  old  Ma- 
dame du  Deffand,  to  French  influence,  almost  have  envied 
Lady  Craven.  And  so  it  was  with  others  in  the  same  Society 
— Lady  Cowper,  Mrs.  Montague,  and  a  long  way  after  them 
Mrs.  West  and  others.  They  give  one  the  same  impression 
of  possessing  considerable  cultivation  and  fine  manners,  but 
with  stilted  tediousness.  Of  the  vein  of  Puritanism  which 
had  certainly  permeated  the  middle  class  and  the  more  re- 
tired upper  class,  as  is  shown  in  Rachel  Lady  Russell's  and 
Lady  Herbert's  letters,  etc.,  traces  still  remain  in  EngHsh 
Society.  But  it  takes  the  light  and  air  out  of  the  subject,  and 
confirms  the  impression  that  neither  by  way  of  contrast  nor  of 
likeness  can  the  women  of  the  eighteenth  century  in  France 
be  compared  with  those  of  the  same  epoch  in  England. 

Before  we  reach  our  friends  of  to-day  we  must  give  a  glance 
at  their  immediate  predecessors,  their  mothers  and  grand- 
mothers; and  the  experience  of  anyone  with  half  a  century's 
experience  ought  to  be  useful  in  helping  us  to  see  Society  in 
the  first  part  of  this  century  as  it  really  was.  The  great  Whig 
Houses  had  much  to  say  in  the  training  of  the  smart  world 
of  those  days.  The  traditions  of  perfect  manners,  lax  morality, 
political  shrewdness,  excellence  of  taste,  unrivalled  skill  in 
holding  a  salon,  were  handed  down  from  mother  to  daughter, 
till  the  ebb  of  the  tide  set  in  during  the  fifties ;  then  it  is  curious 
to  observe  the  decline  of  each  of  these  traditions.  Who  does 
not  remember,  if  he  is  old  enough,  the  courtesy  without  pat- 
ronage, the  gentleness  to  inferiors,  the  rigorous  but  perfectly 
natural  bearing,  which  never  failed,  however  morality  or  re- 
XIX  [15] 


SOCIETY 

ligion  might  fare  in  the  days  of  his  grandmothers  ?  When  I 
was  a  child  it  appeared  to  me  impossible  to  believe  that  there 
could  be  any  other  way  of  getting  old  but  that  with  which  I 
was  familiar.  But,  full  of  point  and  amusement  as  were  her 
sayings,  merciless  as  she  was  to  false  fine  ladyism,  swift  and 
cutting  as  were  her  caustic,  witty  snubs  to  both  old  and  young, 

yet  I  feel  when  I  look  back  that  old  Lady  G must  have 

been  a  milder  reproduction  of  the  preceding  generation;  for 
the  disintegrating  forces  of  the  French  Revolution  were  at 
work  in  England,  and  a  woman  whose  husband  knew  his 
Voltaire  and  Rousseau  by  heart  found  the  Whig  edition  of 
liberalism  strongly  tinged  with  ideas  which  could  revolutionize 
in  a  bloodless  way  the  exclusive  aristocratic  upper  classes; 
while  the  middle  classes  were  protected  by  the  Puritan  in- 
fluence from  this  disturbing  agent. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  puzzled,  restless  phase 
which  came  over  French  society  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  began  to  undermine  English  society  in  the  sixties 
and  seventies  of  the  nineteenth  in  a  dull  respectable  way; 
manners  became  democratized,  salons  lost  their  prestige  be- 
cause the  entertainer  no  longer  believed  in  herself.  Of  a  group 
of  salons  which  still  held  their  own  fifty  years  ago,  Lady  Pal- 
merston's  was  the  most  successful  and  the  most  powerful 
politically,  because  the  widest  and  the  most  cosmopolitan. 
Her  charm  and  great  distinction  were  unhampered  by  any 
shade  of  strictness.  She  had  a  delightful  naivete  in  the  choice 
of  her  political  agents  that  would  make  us  smile  now.  "I 
think,"  she  would  say,  ''I  shall  send  the  Flea  to  Rotten  Row 
(a  certain  little  Mr.  Fleming,  who  had  the  art  de  se  jau filer 
partout),  to  report  to  me  what  the  feeling  of  the  country  is 
on  last  night's  debate."  Her  two  daughters.  Lady  Shaftes- 
bury and  the  incomparably  witty  Lady  Jocelyn,  helped  her 
not  a  little. 

Lady  Granville's  salon  was  of  a  different  sort — more  ex- 
clusive, much  more  affected,  and  frequented  by  foreigners. 
She  had  the  French  gift  of  receiving  without  effort.  Sitting 
at  work  with  a  shaded  lamp  near  her,  she  would  call  out  with 
a  word  from  among  those  passing  through  to  the  tea-room 
XIX  [  i6  ] 


SOCIETY 

a  friend  with  whom  she  wished  to  talk,  and  one  always  longed 
to  hear  what  she  was  saying,  for  the  friend  on  the  sofa  looked 
very  happy  and  much  amused;  even  "the  lodger,"  Charles 
Greville,  who  lived  on  the  floor  above  in  Bruton  Street,  thawed 
in  that  corner.  Of  course,  there  was  the  immense  advantage 
of  the  presence  of  the  master  of  the  house,  who,  with  his  won- 
derful instinct  for  society,  rapidly  arranged  and  rearranged 
groups,  so  that  a  bore,  if  such  were  admitted  by  mistake, 
found  himself  neutralized  by  being  handed  to  some  one  fully 
capable  of  dealing  with  him.  Lady  Palmerston,  Lady  Gran- 
ville, and  Lady  Holland  may  be  said  to  be  the  last  charming 
mondaines  convaincues,  who  never  doubted  what  they  should 
do  and  say  to  maintain  their  power.  They  sometimes  in- 
dulged in  an  inner  circle  of  intimate  (small)  dinners  and  tails 
to  dinners,  but,  on  the  whole,  devoted  themselves  mainly  to 
the  interest  of  "the  party,"  and  received  all — and  a  very  long 
list  it  was — ^with  the  most  perfect  manner,  which  was  simply 
no  manner  at  all.  Each  guest,  young  and  old,  left  the  house 
with  the  conviction  that  special  attention  and  marked  sym- 
pathy had  been  shown  to  him. 

The  later  attempts  to  fill  this  role^  the  grande  dame  hold- 
ing a  salon,  were  not  successful.  Strawberry  Hill  had  in 
Frances  Lady  Waldegrave's  reign  a  reputation  of  its  own.  As 
a  country  house  it  was  an  amusing  one  to  go  to,  though  her 
receptions  were  a  little  too  much  of  a  scramble  for  it  to  be  dis- 
tinguished in  its  jagon  d^etre.  The  generous  qualities  of  the 
hostess  and  the  mixed  character  of  her  guests  made  up  a  whole 
which,  as  a  feature  of  the  epoch,  has  a  special  value.  Yet, 
as  a  salon,  held  by  a  grande  dame,  it  was  beside  the  mark. 
The  strings  were  beginning  to  get  tangled  and  to  respond  no 
longer  to  the  hand  that  played  with  them  with  a  political 
purpose,  and  it  failed,  in  spite  of  skilful  combinations  and 
strong  personal  influence.  In  later  attempts  the  failure  was 
still  more  marked;  to  watch  the  pulling  at  bell- wires  that 
rang  no  bells  became  to  the  looker-on.  oppressive  and  some- 
times ludicrous.  Before  we  leave  the  last  of  the  salons  for 
duller  company,  there  is  one  personality  who  ought  to  find 
a  place  in  a  sketch,  however  slight,  of  the  world  in  which 
XIX  [17] 


SOCIETY 

Lady  Palmers  ton  and  Lady  Granville  reigned  supreme.  Lady 
William  Russell  did  not  attempt  to  hold  a  salon;  she  spent 
much  of  her  time  abroad,  and,  when  she  came  to  England, 
lived  in  the  simplest  foreign  way,  her  establishment  consist- 
ing of  few  servants  beyond  her  courier  and  her  maid.  But, 
though  not  attempting  the  role  of  hostess,  she  was  almost  in- 
dispensable at  the  salons  of  her  friends,  and  still  more  so  at 
the  small  recherche  dinners  which  were  the  fashion  among 
the  creme  de  la  creme.  She  was  by  far  the  strongest  person- 
nality  of  that  time,  a  powerful  woman,  powerful  to  violence. 
(So  said  rumor.)  To  the  fascination  which  strength  of  char- 
acter gives  its  owner  she  added  the  charm  of  being  so  free 
from  insularity  and  provincialism  that  many  people  were  puz- 
zled as  to  her  nationality.  Each  country  claimed  her  as  its 
own.  A  Parisian  was  at  once  arrested  by  her  wittily  expressed 
appreciation  of  both  ancient  and  modern  regime,  of  both  solid 
and  frivolous  literature  in  .France.  Then  she  might  be  heard 
talking  to  the  German  Ambassador  on  abstruse  political  ques- 
tions; she  was  equally  able,  in  the  purest  Tuscan,  to  discuss 
with  an  Italian  cardinal  the  latest  news  from  the  Vatican. 
All  this  without  the  slightest  pose  or  effort.  She  brought  up 
her  three  sons  in  a  way  of  her  own,  utterly  unlike  any  English 
system  of  education  ever  heard  of.  A  Catholic  herself,  she 
hated  the  priest,  and  wished  to  have  only  inscribed  on  her 
grave:    ''The  mother  of  Hastings,  Odo,  and  Arthur." 

We  must  leave  these  interesting  personalities  and  pass  on 
to  a  very  dull  epoch,  glancing  on  the  way  at  the  theological 
High  Church  phase  kindly  interpreted  by  Miss  Sewell  and 
Miss  Yonge.  An  ideal  founded  on  the  inculcation  of  obedience 
to  the  Church,  instilled  in  brothers  and  cousins  from  Oxford, 
gave  the  more  intelligent  of  the  young  women  in  the  fifties 
some  perception  of  what  culture  might  imply;  but  its  pur- 
suit was  on  the  whole  uninteresting,  still  more  so  were  the 
lives  of  their  frivolous  sisters,  made  up  as  they  were  mainly 
of  a  great  deal  of  silliness,  of  love  of  dress  that  didn't  result 
in  good  dress,  of  flirtations  with  no  background  of  wit,  vice 
sometimes  having  its  turn  at  the  wheel;  but  even  the  vice 
of  that  period  was  dull. 

XIX  [  i8  ] 


SOCIETY 

We  have  arrived  at  the  point  at  which  we  may  consider 
the  question  with  which  we  started — what  is  common  to  the 
Frenchwomen  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  the  English  of 
the  nineteenth — and  this  misgiving  arises.  Are  not  the  dis- 
similarities so  marked  as  to  destroy  all  resemblance?  Yet 
it  is  the  one  interesting  point  in  the  study,  so  the  doubt  must 
be  conquered.  An  additional  difficulty  lies  in  the  avoidance 
of  any  portrait-painting.  Just  as  the  roman  a  clej  is  generally 
very  poor  art,  so  in  an  essay,  however  unpretending,  it  would 
be  odious  to  bolster  up  the  interest  by  dealing  with  distinct 
personalities  and  not  with  types.  Time  is  pressing,  and  some 
one  else  said  the  other  day,  a  propos  of  the  expression,  "Now 
the  psychological  moment  has  arrived."  '  You  are  talking  as 
they  did  in  the  early  nineties,  and  the  types  change  before 
your  very  eyes. 

Why,  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago  we  had  the  academic  fad. 
The  higher  education  of  women  was  the  cry.  It  touched 
Society  vaguely:  Lady  So-and-so  was  determined  to  send 
her  daughters  to  Girton  of  Newnham.  The  ordinary  English 
and  even  French  governesses  were  made  to  wince  when  com- 
parisons were  made  between  the  effect  of  their  teaching  and 
the  result  of  a  college  course.  In  many  a  middle  or  profes- 
sional home  it  came  as  a  solution  to  the  dreary  problem  of  how 
the  girls  of  the  family  were  to  earn  their  bread,  besides  giving 
them  the  unexpected  joy  of  finding  their  brains  to  be  un- 
doubtedly fit  for  something.  Those  who  hate  academic  train- 
ing in  either  men  or  women  railed  at  the  natj  belief  that  to 
follow  the  exact  curriculum  which  produced  such  poor  re- 
sults in  men  would  advance  the  general  status  of  women. 
Its  evident  narrowness  and  want  of  elasticity  could  not  strike 
the  enthusiastic  promoters  of  the  higher  education.  Enthu- 
siasts are  usually  found  to  be  without  a  sense  of  humor,  and 
the  inefficiency  and  defects  of  the  women's  colleges  were 
scarcely  apparent  even  to  outsiders,  who  were,  if  in  sympathy 
with  the  movement,  too  full  of  admiration  for  the  wonderful 
energy  and  zeal,  the  untiring  and  self-denying  devotion,  of 
the  founders,  to  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  criticise.  They  did 
not  observe  the  deteriorating  effect  of  the  strain  of  over-work 
XIX  [  19  ] 


SOCIETY 

during  the  growing  years  of  the  young  girls  who  were  forced 
into  competition  with  strong  men,  the  majority  of  whom  cared 
not  to  beat  them.  Every  facuUy  was  bent  to  the  task  of  ob- 
taining marks.  Commercially  it  answered  to  send  such  well- 
equipped  teachers  into  the  market,  and  this,  in  a  way,  met 
one  of  the  pressing  wants  of  the  day.  But  later,  in  the  homes 
of  the  intelligent  classes,  this  practical  solution  was  before  long 
pronounced  to  be  inadequate,  and  disappointment  was  felt 
by  the  parents  of  the  very  hard,  trenchant,  cut-and-dried 
young  prig  who  returned  from  time  to  time  to  the  home  she 
had  learned  to  contemn. 

Now,  the  colleges  have  proved  that  they  have  to  deal  with 
influences  more  potent  even  than  ignorance.  In  Society  the 
ineradicable  love  of  dress  and  the  eternal  power  of  physical 
beauty  prevented  at  any  time  any  great  warmth  of  enthu- 
siasm in  the  direction  of  intellectual  training.  Men  disliked 
it.  They  had  been  used  to  the  toy  and  doll's  house  theory. 
Useless  to  quote  women  of  past  ages;  neither  men  nor  women 
had  imagination  enough  to  see  that,  with  all  their  weaknesses, 
not  to  speak  of  their  vices,  the  women  of  the  Middle  Ages 
were  a  superior  kind  of  animal  to  the  average  Englishwoman 
of  the  last  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

The  cult  of  the  Virgin  Mary  in  the  Middle  Ages  did  far 
more  to  raise  the  status  of  women  than  any  other  cause  at 
work  since  the  age  of  chivalry,  and  the  efforts  toward  intel- 
lectual discipline  in  our  day  are  futile  in  comparison.  Still 
these  efforts  indirectly  affected  later  developments  of  women's 
energies,  and  may  play  a  more  considerable  part  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  woman  of  the  twentieth  century  than  we  expect 
at  present. 

The  "new  woman"  followed  the  student,  but  was  gradu- 
ally demolished  by  common  consent,  and  the  artillery  spent 
in  her  destruction  some  ten  years  ago  by  such  opponents  as 
Mrs.  Lynn  Linton,  of  the  Saturday  Review,  was  rather  a  waste 
of  force. 

So  quickly  do  we  move  on  in  these  days,  so  rapidly  do 
different  ideals  and  different  ways  and  customs  start  into  life 
and  follow  each  other,  that  what  was  a  true  description  of 
XIX  [  20 1 


SOCIETY 

society  two  or  three  years  ago  may  be  an  inaccurate  picture 
now.  Yet  I  believe  that  some  members  of  each  of  these  older 
groups  survive  in  the  present  day.  Such  as  those  who  led 
society  before,  in  the  main  lead  now;  in  so  far  as  they  do  not, 
it  is  due  to  the  uneasiness,  very  like  that  prevailing  at  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  century  that  is  beginning  to  show  itself. 
The  novelty  of  playing  at  intellectualism  is  beginning  to  lose 
its  charm.  Those  who  are  born  intellectual  or  have  inherited 
literary  aptitudes  remain  in  a  way  masters  of  the  situation. 
There  are  not  many  of  these,  and  even  they  are  amused  by 
the  desperate  recklessness  of  experiment  that  seems  to  be  not 
only  a  reaction  against  conventionality,  but  to  result  from  a 
mad  desire  to  exhaust  every  form  of  amusement,  and  indeed 
of  vice.  The  husband-snatching,  the  lover-snatching — in  short, 
the  open  profligacy — becomes  unattractive  because  nobody  is 
shocked.  Gambling  is  resorted  to,  but  that  is  such  an  ex- 
clusive passion  that  it  protects  its  votaries  from  destruction 
by  other  forms  of  vice.  In  some  cases  the  quality  of  atten- 
tion required  of  the  gambler  is  intermittently  applied  to  other 
aims,  and  the  scholar  gambler  is  in  a  fair  way  to  become  a 
type.  What  remains?  The  Kingdom  of  Bore.  We  have 
seen  how  the  Frenchwomen,  fin  du  iSieme  Steele,  after  exhaust- 
ing every  form  of  excitement,  were  found  calling  out  for  the 
niant;  and  the  parallel  is  curiously  close  and  suggestive.  But 
history,  as  we  know,  does  not  actually  repeat  itself,  and  those 
Frenchwomen  gave  up  trying  to  understand  the  days  they 
lived  in.  There  was  a  feeling  of  storm  in  the  air  that  op- 
pressed them,  and  whose  cause  they  had  neither  the  mental 
nor  moral  equipment  to  discern.  So  they  sat  and  waited 
to  see  what  would  come,  and  the  great  storm  did  come  and 
swept  them  all  away  before  they  had  had  time  to  understand 
it.  Here  such  a  storm  may  or  may  not  come;  should  it  come, 
it  would  be  met  more  intelligently — who  knows?  perhaps 
guided  and  directed;  but  what  would  be  the  outcome  it  is 
idle  to  try  to  predict.  The  older  generation  sometimes  amuse 
themselves  by  conjecturing  what  regime  will  follow  the 
present. 

Several  thousand  years  ago  the  form  of  confession  pre- 

XIX  [  21  ] 


SOCIETY 

scribed  by  the  Egyptian  priests  was  a  negative  pronounce- 
ment— I  have  not  stolen,  murdered,  etc.,  and  so  on,  leaving 
the  Deity  to  infer  what  sins  have  been  committed.  We  might 
take  the  hint  and  find  that  a  negative  position  has  more  chance 
of  holding  its  own  than  a  positive  assertion,  and  the  humble 
but  definite  aim^  of  searching  for  facts,  not  theories,  may  prove 
a  successful  mode  of  arriving  at  something  like  a  conclusion. 
I  believe  that  the  woman  of  the  twentieth  century  will  not  in 
any  way  resemble  the  platforming,  noisy,  aggressive  ladies 
of  the  advanced  school,  who  may  themselves  be  traced  to 
the  terrible  new  woman  who  afflicted  us  for  a  short  time; 
but  I  also  believe  that  the  extinct  woman — like  Ibsen's  master- 
builder's  wife,  Mrs.  Solness — who  threatened  at  one  time  to 
be  rehabilitated  by  the  force  of  reaction,  has  no  chance  at 
all  of  reincarnation.  Nor  do  I  think  the  courtisane  de  haul 
etage  doubled  with  the  philanthropist  is  a  type  that  will  com- 
mend itself  to  English  opinion,  for  the  men  held  in  bondage 
by  her  are  seldom  those  on  the  first  line.  Nor  will  the  scholar 
and  purely  literary  woman,  or  the  grande  dame  who  dabbles 
in  literature,  science,  and  art,  and  leads  a  charming  life  of 
eclecticism,  sestheticism,  and  many  other  isms,  prevail,  for 
none  of  these  are  adequate;  they  are  not  the  size,  as  an  Ameri- 
can would  say.  Our  successors  will  insist  on  something  built 
on  a  larger  and  wider  conception  of  life,  a  type  higher  and 
nobler,  and  therefore  more  fascinating;  for,  after  all,  there 
seems  to  be  lacking  in  the  very  distinct  types  I  have  tried  to 
sketch  that  great  quality  of  charm  which  is  all  too  absent  from 
the  ordinary  Englishwoman. 

Charm!  who  can  define  it?  It  is  an  essence,  a  mystery; 
it  rules  in  spite  of  vice  and  wickedness,  not  by  reason  of  them. 
From  Helen  of  Troy  to  Mary  Stuart,  the  women  who  charmed 
look  out  through  the  mist  of  centuries  with  their  ''basilisk 
eyes,"  and  arrest  even  now  those  who  would,  if  they  could, 
resist  their  fascination.  Who  that  has  seen  Sarah  Bernhardt 
as  Cleopatra  slowly  stepping  from  the  barge  toward  Anthony, 
with  the  simple  words  in  the  golden  voice,  "Je  suis  la  Reine 
d'Egypte!"  who  that  has  felt  with  Swinburne  that  Mary 
Stuart's  cold  cruelty  prevailed  not  with  Chastelard,  for  with 

XIX  [  22  ] 


SOCIETY 

her  Ronsard  in  hand  he  met  death  with  joy  so  that  he 
might  see  that  beautiful  wicked  face  once  more;  who  that  has 
felt  the  power  of  these  and  other  instances  (why  should  we 
multiply  them?)  will  deny  that  there  is  here  an  inscrutable 
secret  ?  Baffled  we  must  ever  be  if  we  try  to  explain  the  mys- 
tery. We  feel  it,  though  we  cannot  analyze  it.  But  we  should 
beware  of  one  pitfall.  In  this,  as  in  all  mysteries,  we  have 
an  instance  of  a  duality  which  cannot  be  overlooked.  It  is 
easy  enough  to  consider  only  one  side  of  the  question.  Take 
the  physical  side  alone:  it  does  not  require  the  lore  of  a  Bran- 
tome  or  a  Boccaccio  to  point  out  that,  if  we  do  not  acknowl- 
edge the  power  of  beauty  over  the  senses,  we  shall  go  terribly 
astray.  But  is  this  all?  Surely  the  other  aspect  of  the  mys- 
tery inevitably  must  be  met.  The  wit,  the  intellectual  fire, 
the  quickness  of  apprehension,  what  would  sensual  beauty 
be  without  these?  Take  them  together,  and  you  feel  what 
magnetic  charm  may  be,  though  you  cannot  explain  it.  The 
number  of  those  who  possess  the  secret  is  not  so  great  in  the 
present  day  that  we  need  fear  the  subjugation  of  the  entire 
race  of  man  in  the  twentieth  century.  The  exceptions  to  the 
commonplace  must  always  be  few. 

Rare  instances  may  exist  now.  Let  us  be  thankful  for 
them,  as  we  are  for  genius,  and  turn  our  attention  to  the  future 
woman.  The  future  woman!  There  are  many  burning  ques- 
tions she  will  help  to  disentangle,  but  we  cannot  touch  upon 
them  here.  Probably  the  improvement  in  her  economic  con- 
ditions may,  as  the  Americans  foresee,  effect  wonders.  But 
I  shall  be  told  that  I  have  for  my  ideal  something  made  up 
of  Vittoria  Colonna,  Diane  de  Poitiers,  and  Miss  Nightingale. 
No,  my  aim  is  much  more  humble.  I  dream  of  a  possible 
woman  having  something  of  the  frank,  fearless  grace,  the  self- 
reliant  daring,  the  open-air  freedom  of  the  Englishwoman 
of  the  past.  Give  her  also  charm  and  sympathy  and  capa- 
bility of  deep  passion,  and  we  may  find  .  .  .  but,  if  I  do  not 
take  care  I  shall  begin  to  predict,  and  I  have  promised  not 
to  do  so. 


XIX  [23] 


XX 


THE  CHILD 

"THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  MIND" 


A 


BY 

H.  G.  WELLS 


RE  our  children  getting  the  very  best  training  possible 
for  those  trials  oj  life  which  they,  like  the  rest  oj  us, 
must  one  day  face?  To  every  father  and  mother  that  question 
ranks  high  among  the  most  important.  Even  some  of  us  who 
are  not  parents  may,  perhaps,  have  recognized  the  value  oj  the 
question  as  bearing  on  the  future  oj  the  world,  and  may  be  willing 
to  give  the  subject  closer  consideration.  Is  it  possible  that  the 
way  oj  the  beast  with  its  cub  is  not  the  best  way?  that  intel- 
lect is  better  than  instinct  in  the  raising  oj  the  human  young? 
The  Indian  mother  lashed  her  pappoose  upon  her  back,  and  there 
it  hung,  to  live  or  to  die  as  chance  might  jail,  as  the  Great  Spirit 
willed.  We  have  rejected  ''instinct,''^  in  that  aspect  at  least, 
and  summon  intellect  in  the  guise  oj  learned  doctors  to  advise 
us  as  to  every  step  in  our  darling's  physical  career.  But  in 
matters  oj  mentality,  so  jar  as  babies  are  concerned,  we  still 
cling  to  the  blind  method  oj  instinct.  The  child  learns  what  it 
can,  what  chance  dictates,  though  these  things  may  easily  mean 
lije  or  death  to  its  mental  and  its  moral  being. 

Perchance  we  have  only  acted  thus  at  hazard  because  along 
these  lines  science  has  ofjered  us  no  positive  guide.  Physicians 
jor  the  mind  and  soul  have  no  such  assured  authority  among 
us,  no  such  positive  jacts  upon  which  to  act,  as  have  their  brethren 
oj  the  body.  Each  oj  us  therejore,  however  unwilling  and  in- 
competent, jeels  himselj  compelled  to  assume  the  responsibility 
XX  [i] 


THE   CHILD 

oj  the  judge,  and  to  do  for  his  children  what  to  him  seems  good. 
With  most  oj  us,  it  is  to  be  jeared,  this  results  merely  in  letting 
things  drijt  till  the  child  is  old  enough  to  go  to  school.  Then 
as  the  little  one  begins  its  second  birth  into  the  world  oj  books, 
we  marvel  to  find  its  character  already  partly  jormed.  It  is, 
we  say,  a  bright  child  or  a  determined  one.  It  has  caught — 
jeeble  verb  vividly  suggestive  oj  our  own  sense  oj  haphazard 
helplessness  —  it  has  caught  some  ideas  quickly,  others  it  has 
jailed  to  assimilate.  Heredity,  which  accuses  our  ancestors 
equally  with  ourselves,  is  a  so  much  more  comjortable  explana- 
tion to  ofjer  jor  the  youngstef  s  jailures,  than  to  blame  them  upon 
our  own  ignorance,  misguidance,  and  neglect. 

Fortunately,  jor  our  recently  awakening  consciences,  science 
begins  to  investigate  this  subject  along  with  others.  The  whole 
problem  is  as  yet  at  an  elementary  stage;  but  no  suggestions 
have  been  advanced  more  valuable  than  those  oj  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells. 
Mr.  Wells,  who  first  became  known  to  most  oj  us  some  dozen 
years  ago  as  a  writer  oj  jantastic  tales  about  the  juture,  has  grad- 
ually, with  deepening  interest  in  the  social  problems  he  por- 
trayed, abandoned  the  story-telling  part  oj  his  books  and  plunged 
ever  more  thoughtjully  and  earnestly  into  their  philosophic  side. 
To-day  he  stands  among  the  most  vigorous  and  most  advanced 
oj  our  social  teachers,  an  "Associ^  de  I'Institut  International 
de  Sociologie."  He  preaches  a  ^^  New  Republicanism,^^  to  which 
he  makes  occasional  rejerence  below.  His  ^^New  Republicans^^ 
are  to  devote  themselves  to  the  juture  and  ignore  the  past,  to  bind 
themselves  not  to  any  single  land,  but  to  a  league  oj  new  thought 
and  higher  purpose  extending  through  all  lands.  Perhaps 
these  ideas  are  jancijul,  but  nothing  could  be  more  practical 
than  his  approach  to  the  practical  problem  oj  the  conditions 
which  do  and  which  should  surround  the  child. 


The  newborn  child  is  at  first  no  more  than  an  animal. 
Indeed,  it  is  among  the  lowest  and  most  helpless  of  all  animals, 
a  mere  vegetative  lump;  assimilation  incarnate — wailing.  It 
is  for  the  first  day  in  its  life  deaf,  it  squints  bhndly  at  the  world, 
its  Hmbs  arc  beyond  its  control,  its  hands  clutch  drowningly 
XX  [2] 


THE   CHILD 

at  anything  whatever  that  drifts  upon  this  vast  sea  of  being 
into  which  it  has  plunged  so  amazingly.  And  imperceptibly, 
subtly,  so  subtly  that  never  at  any  time  can  we  mark  with  cer- 
tainty the  increment  of  its  coming,  there  creeps  into  this  soft 
and  claimant  Httle  creature  a  mind,  a  will,  a  personaHty,  the 
beginning  of  all  that  is  real  and  spiritual  in  man.  In  a  Httle 
while  there  are  eyes  full  of  interest  and  clutching  hands  full 
of  purpose,  smiles  and  frowns,  the  babbling  beginning  of  ex- 
pression and  affections  and  aversions.  Before  the  first  year 
is  out  there  are  obedience  and  rebeUion,  choice  and  self-control, 
speech  has  commenced,  and  the  struggle  of  the  newcomer  to 
stand  on  his  feet  in  this  world  of  men.  The  process  is  un- 
analyzable;  given  a  certain  measure  of  care  and  protection, 
these  things  come  spontaneously,  with  the  merest  rough  en- 
couragement of  things  and  voices  about  the  child  they  are 
evoked. 

But  every  day  the  inherent  impulse  makes  a  larger  demand 
upon  the  surroundings  of  the  child,  if  it  is  to  do  its  best  and 
fullest.  Obviously,  quite  apart  from  physical  consequences, 
the  environment  of  a  little  child  may  be  good  or  bad,  better 
or  worse  for  it  in  a  thousand  different  ways.  It  may  be  dis- 
tracting or  over-stimulating,  it  may  evoke  and  increase  fear, 
it  may  be  drab  and  dull  and  depressing,  it  may  be  stupefying, 
it  may  be  misleading  and  productive  of  vicious  habits  of  mind. 
And  our  business  is  to  find  just  what  is  the  best  possible  en- 
vironment, the  one  that  will  give  the  soundest  and  fullest 
growth,  not  only  of  body,  but  of  intelligence. 

Now  from  the  very  earliest  phase  the  infant  stands  in  need 
of  a  succession  of  interesting  things.  At  first  these  are  mere 
vague  sense  impressions,  but  in  a  month  or  so  there  is  a  dis- 
tinct looking  at  objects ;  presently  follow  reaching  and  clutch- 
ing, and  soon  the  little  creature  is  urgent  for  fresh  things  to 
see,  handle,  hear,  fresh  experiences  of  all  sorts,  fresh  combi- 
nations of  things  already  known.  The  newborn  mind  is  soon 
as  hungry  as  the  body.  And  if  a  healthy  well-fed  child  cries, 
it  is  probably  by  reason  of  this  unsatisfied  hunger,  it  lacks  an 
interest,  it  is  hored,  that  dismal  vacant  suffering  that  punishes 
the  failure  of  things  living  to  live  fully  and  completely.  As 
XX  [3] 


THE   CHILD 

Mr.  Charles  Booth  has  pointed  out  in  his  Life  and  Labor  of 
the  People,  it  is  probable  that  in  this  respect  the  children  of  the 
relatively  poor  are  least  at  a  disadvantage.  The  very  poor 
infant  passes  its  hfe  in  the  family  room,  there  is  a  going  and 
coming,  an  interesting  activity  of  domestic  work  on  the  part 
of  its  mother,  the  preparation  of  meals,  the  intermittent  pres- 
ence of  the  father,  the  whole  gamut  of  its  mother's  unsophis- 
ticated temper.  It  is  carried  into  crowded  and  eventful  streets 
at  all  hours.  It  participates  in  pothouse  soirees  and  assists 
at  the  business  of  shopping.  It  may  not  lead  a  very  hygienic 
life,  but  it  does  not  lead  a  dull  one.  Contrast  with  its  lot  that 
of  the  lonely  child  of  some  woman  of  fashion,  leading  its  beauti- 
fully non-bacterial  Hfe  in  a  carefully  secluded  nursery  under 
the  control  of  a  virtuous,  punctual,  invariable,  conscientious 
rather  than  emotional  nurse.  The  poor  little  soul  wails  as 
often  for  events  as  the  slum  baby  does  for  nourishment.  Into 
its  gray  nursery  there  rushes  every  day,  or  every  other  day, 
a  breathless,  preoccupied,  excessively  dressed,  cleverish,  many- 
sided,  fundamentally  silly,  and  universally  incapable  woman, 
vociferates  a  little  conventional  affection,  slaps  a  kiss  or  so 
upon  her  offspring,  and  goes  off  again  to  collect  that  daily 
meed  of  admiration  and  cheap  envy  which  is  the  gusto  of  her 
world.  After  that  gushing,  rusthng,  incomprehensible  pas- 
sage, the  child  relapses  into  the  boring  care  of  its  bored  hireling 
for  another  day.  The  nurse  writes  her  letters,  mends  her 
clothes,  reads  and  thinks  of  the  natural  interests  of  her  own 
life,  and  the  child  is  "good"  just  in  proportion  to  the  extent 
to  which  it  doesn't  "worry." 

The  ideal  environment  should  contain  the  almost  constant 
presence  of  the  mother,  for  no  one  is  so  hkely  to  be  constantly 
various  and  interesting  and  so  untiring  as  she.  It  is  entirely 
on  account  of  this  ideal  environment  that  monogamy  finds  its 
practical  sanction,  because  it  insures  the  presiding  mother 
the  maximum  of  security  and  self-respect.  A  woman  who 
enjoys  the  full  rights  of  a  wife  without  a  complete  discharge 
of  the  duties  of  motherhood  profits  by  the  imputation  of  things 
she  has  failed  to  perform.  To  secure  an  ideal  environment 
for  children  in  as  many  cases  as  possible  is  the  second  of  the 
XX  [4] 


THE  CHILD 

two  great  practical  ends — ^the  first  being  sound  births,  for  which 
the  rules  of  sexual  morality  exist. 

The  ideal  environment  should  no  doubt  centre  about  a 
nursery — a  clean,  airy,  brightly  lit,  brilHantly  adorned  room, 
into  which  there  should  be  a  frequent  coming  and  going  of 
things  and  people ;  but  from  the  time  the  child  begins  to  recog- 
nize objects  and  individuals  it  should  be  taken  for  little  spells 
into  other  rooms  and  different  surroundings.  In  the  homely, 
convenient,  servantlcss  abode  over  which  the  able-bodied, 
capable,  skilful,  civilized  women  of  the  future  will  preside, 
the  child  will  naturally  follow  its  mother's  morning  activities 
from  room  to  room.  Its  mother  will  talk  to  it,  chance  visitors 
will  sign  to  it.  There  should  be  a  public  or  private  garden 
available  where  its  perambulator  could  stand  in  fine  weather; 
and  its  promenades  should  not  be  too  much  a  matter  of  routine. 
To  go  along  a  road  with  some  traffic  is  better  for  a  child  than 
to  go  along  a  secluded  path  between  hedges;  a  street  corner 
is  better  than  a  laurel  plantation  as  a  pitch  for  perambulators. 

When  a  child  is  five  or  six  months  old  it  will  have  got  a 
certain  use  and  grip  with  its  hands,  and  it  will  want  to  handle 
and  examine  and  test  the  properties  of  as  many  objects  as  it 
can.  Gifts  begin.  There  seems  scope  for  a  wiser  selection 
in  these  early  gifts.  At  present  it  is  chiefly  woolly  animals 
with  bells  inside  them,  woolly  balls,  and  so  forth,  that  reach 
the  baby's  hands.  There  is  no  reason  at  all  why  a  child's 
attention  should  be  so  predominantly  fixed  on  wool.  These 
toys  are  colored  very  tastefully,  but  as  Preyer  has  advanced 
strong  reasons  for  supposing  that  the  child's  discrimination 
of  colors  is  extremely  rudimentary  until  the  second  year  has 
begun,  these  tasteful  arrangements  are  simply  an  appeal  to 
the  parent.  Light,  dark,  yellow,  perhaps  red  and  "other 
colors"  seem  to  constitute  the  color  system  of  a  very  young 
infant.  It  is  to  the  parent,  too,  that  the  humorous  and  realistic 
quahty  of  the  animal  forms  appeal.  The  parent  does  the 
shopping  and  has  to  be  amused.  The  babyish  parent  who 
really  ought  to  have  a  doll  instead  of  a  child  is  sufficiently 
abundant  in  our  world  to  dominate  the  shops,  and  there  is  a 
vast  traffic  in  facetious  baby  toys,  facetious  nursery  furniture, 
XX  [5] 


THE   CHILD 

"art"  cushions  and  ''quaint"  baby  clothing,  all  amazingly 
delightful  things  for  grown-up  people.  These  things  are 
bought  and  grouped  about  the  child,  the  child  is  taught  tricks 
to  complete  the  picture,  and  parentage  becomes  a  very  amus- 
ing afternoon  employment.  So  long  as  convenience  is  not 
sacrificed  to  the  aesthetic  needs  of  the  nursery,  and  so  long 
as  common  may  compete  with  "art"  toys,  there  is  no  great 
harm  done,  but  it  is  well  to  understand  how  irrelevant  these 
things  are  to  the  real  needs  of  a  child's  development. 

A  child  of  a  year  or  less  has  neither  knowledge  nor  imagi- 
nation to  see  the  point  of  these  animal  resemblances — much 
less  to  appreciate  either  quaintness  or  prettiness.  He  is  much 
more  interested  in  the  crumpling  and  tearing  of  paper,  in  the 
crumpling  of  chintz,  and  in  the  taking  off  and  replacing  of  the 
lid  of  a  little  box.  I  think  it  would  be  possible  to  devise  a 
much  more  entertaining  set  of  toys  for  an  infant  than  is  at 
present  procurable,  but,  unhappily,  they  would  not  appeal 
to  the  intelligence  of  the  average  parent.  There  would  be, 
for  example,  one  or  two  little  boxes  of  different  shapes  and 
substances  with  lids  to  take  off  and  on,  one  or  two  rubber 
things  that  would  bend  and  twist  about  and  admit  of  chewing, 
a  ball  and  box  made  of  china,  a  fluffy,  flexible  thing  like  a 
rabbit's  tail  with  the  vertebrae  replaced  by  cane,  a  velvet- 
covered  ball,  a  powder  puff,  and  so  on.  They  could  all  be 
plainly  and  vividly  colored  with  some  non-soluble  inodorous 
color.  They  would  be  about  on  the  cot  and  on  the  rug  where 
the  child  was  put  to  kick  and  crawl.  They  would  have  to  be 
too  large  to  swallow  and  they  would  all  get  pulled  and  mauled 
about  until  they  were  more  or  less  destroyed.  Some  would 
probably  survive  for  many  years  as  precious  treasures,  as  be- 
loved objects,  as  powers  and  symbols  in  the  mysterious  secret 
fetichism  of  childhood — confidants  and  sympathetic  friends. 

While  the  child  is  engaged  with  its  first  toys,  and  with  the 
collection  of  rudimentary  sense  impressions,  it  is  also  develop- 
ing a  remarkable  variety  of  noises  and  babblements  from  which 
it  will  presently  disentangle  speech.  Day  by  day  it  will  show 
a  stronger  and  stronger  bias  to  associate  definite  sounds  with 
definite  objects  and  ideas,  a  bias  so  comparatively  powerful 
XX  [6] 


THE   CHILD 

in  the  mind  of  man  as  to  distinguish  him  from  all  other  living 
creatures.  Other  creatures  may  think,  may,  in  a  sort  of  con- 
crete way,  come  almost  indefinably  near  reason  (as  Professor 
Lloyd  Morgan  in  his  very  delightful  Animal  Lije  and  Intel- 
ligence has  shown) ;  but  man  alone  has  in  speech  the  apparatus, 
the  possibiHty,  at  any  rate,  of  being  a  reasoning  and  reasonable 
creature.  It  is,  of  course,  not  his  only  apparatus.  Men  may 
think  out  things  with  drawings,  with  little  models,  with  signs 
and  symbols  upon  paper,  but  speech  is  the  common  way,  the 
highroad,  the  current  coin  of  thought. 

With  speech  humanity  begins.  With  the  dawn  of  speech 
the  child  ceases  to  be  an  animal  we  cherish,  and  crosses  the 
boundary  into  distinctly  human  intercourse.  There  begins  in 
its  mind  the  development  of  the  most  wonderful  of  all  con- 
ceivable apparatus,  a  subtle  and  intricate  keyboard,  that  will 
end  at  last  with  thirty  or  forty  or  fifty  thousand  keys.  This 
queer,  staring,  soft  little  being  in  its  mother's  arms  is  organiz- 
ing something  within  itself,  beside  which  the  most  wonderfully 
organized  orchestra  one  could  imagine  is  a  lump  of  rude  clum- 
siness. There  will  come  a  time  when,  at  the  merest  touch 
upon  those  keys,  image  will  follow  image  and  emotion  develop 
into  emotion,  when  the  whole  creation,  the  deeps  of  space,  the 
minutest  beauties  of  the  microscope,  cities,  armies,  passions, 
splendors,  sorrows,  will  leap  out  of  darkness  into  the  conscious 
being  of  thought,  when  this  interwoven  net  of  brief,  small 
sounds  will  form  the  centre  of  a  web  that  will  hold  together 
in  its  threads  the  universe,  the  All,  visible  and  invisible,  ma' 
terial  and  immaterial,  real  and  imagined,  of  a  human  mind. 
And  if  we  are  to  make  the  best  of  a  child  it  is  in  no  way  secondary 
to  its  physical  health  and  growth  that  it  should  acquire  a  great 
and  thorough  command  over  speech,  not  merely  that  it  should 
speak,  but,  what  is  far  more  vital,  that  it  should  understand 
swiftly  and  subtly  things  written  and  said.  Indeed,  this  is 
more  than  any  physical  need.  The  body  is  the  substance  and 
the  implement;  the  mind,  built  and  compact  of  language,  is 
the  man.  All  that  has  gone  before,  all  that  we  have  discussed 
of  sound  birth  and  physical  growth  and  care,  is  no  more  than 
the  making  ready  of  the  soil  for  the  mind  that  is  to  grow  therein. 
XX  [7] 


THE   CHILD 

As  we  come  to  this  matter  of  language  we  come  a  step  nearer 
to  the  intimate  reaUties  of  our  subject,  we  come  to  the  mental 
plant  that  is  to  bear  the  flower  and  the  ripe  fruit  of  the  in- 
dividual life.  The  next  phase  of  our  inquiry,  therefore,  is 
to  examine  how  we  can  get  this  mental  plant,  this  foundation 
substance,  this  abundant  mastered  language  best  developed 
in  the  individual,  and  how  far  we  may  go  to  insure  this  best 
development  for  all  the  children  born  into  the  world. 

From  the  ninth  month  onward  the  child  begins  serious 
attempts  to  talk.  In  order  that  it  may  learn  to  do  this  as  easily 
as  possible  it  requires  to  be  surrounded  by  people  speaking 
one  language  and  speaking  it  with  a  uniform  accent.  Those 
who  are  most  in  the  child's  hearing  should  endeavor  to  speak 
— even  when  they  are  not  addressing  the  child — deliberately 
and  clearly.  All  authorities  are  agreed  upon  the  mischievous 
effect  of  what  is  called  "baby  talk,"  the  use  of  an  extensive 
sham  vocabulary,  a  sort  of  deciduous  milk  vocabulary  that 
will  presently  have  to  be  shed  again.  Froebel  and  Preyer 
join  hands  on  this.  The  child's  funny  little  perversions  of 
speech  are  really  genuine  attempts  to  say  the  right  word,  and 
we  simply  cause  trouble  and  hamper  development  if  we  give 
back  to  the  seeking  mind  its  own  blunders  again.  When  a 
child  wants  to  indicate  milk,  it  wants  to  say  milk,  and  not 
*'mooka"  or  *'mik,"  and  when  it  wants  to  indicate  bed  the 
needed  word  is  not  ''bedder"  or  "bye-bye,"  but  "bed."  But 
we  give  the  little  thing  no  chance  to  get  on  in  this  way  until 
suddenly  one  day  we  discover  it  is  "  time  the  child  spoke  plainly." 
There  comes  an  age  when  children  absolutely  loathe  these 
adult  imbecihties.  Preyer  has  pointed  out  very  instructively 
the  way  in  which  the  quite  sufficiently  difficult  matter  of  the 
use  of  I,  mine,  me,  my,  you,  yours,  and  your  is  made  still  more 
difficult  by  those  about  the  child  adopting  irregularly  the  ex- 
perimental idioms  it  produces.  When  a  child  says  to  its 
mother,  "Me  go  mome,"  it  is  doing  its  best  to  speak  English, 
and  its  remark  should  be  received  without  worrying  com- 
ment; but  when  a  mother  says  to  her  child,  "Me  go  mome," 
she  is  simply  behaving  stupidly  and  losing  an  opportunity  of 
teaching  her  child  its  mother-tongue. 
XX  [8] 


THE  CHILD 

In  learning  to  speak,  the  children  of  the  more  prosperous 
classes  are  probably  at  a  considerable  advantage  when  com- 
pared with  their  poorer  fellow-children.  They  hear  a  clearer 
and  more  uniform  intonation  than  the  blurred,  uncertain 
speech  of  our  commonalty,  that  has  resulted  from  the  re- 
action of  the  great  synthetic  process  of  the  past  century  upon 
dialects.  But  this  natural  advantage  of  the  richer  child  is 
discounted  in  one  of  two  ways :  in  the  first  place  by  the  mother, 
in  the  second  by  the  nurse.  The  mother  in  the  more  pros- 
perous classes  is  often  much  more  vain  and  trivial  than  the 
lower-class  woman;  she  looks  to  her  children  for  amusement 
and  makes  them  contributors  to  her  "effect,"  and  by  taking 
up  their  quaint  and  pretty  mispronunciations  and  devising 
humorous  additions  to  their  natural  baby  talk,  she  teaches 
them  to  be  much  greater  babies  than  they  could  ever  possibly 
be  themselves.  They  specialize  as  charming  babies  until 
their  mother  tires  of  the  pose,  and  then  they  are  thrust  back 
into  the  nursery  to  recover  leeway,  if  they  can,  under  the  care 
of  governess  or  nurse. 

The  second  disadvantage  of  the  upper-class  child  is  the 
foreign  nurse  or  nursery  governess.  There  is  a  widely  dif- 
fused idea  that  a  child  is  particularly  apt  to  master  and  retain 
languages,  and  people  try  and  inoculate  with  French  and  Ger- 
man as  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury  would  have  inoculated 
children  with  antidotes  for  all  the  ills  their  flesh  was  heir  to 
— even,  poor  little  wretches,  to  an  anticipatory  regimen  for 
gout.  The  root-error  of  these  attempts  to  form  infantile  poly- 
glots is  embodied  in  an  unverified  quotation  from  Byron's 
BeppOy  dear  to  pedagogic  writers — 

"Wax  to  receive  and  marble  to  retain  ". 

runs  the  line — which  the  curious  may  discover  to  be  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  faithful  lover,  though  it  has  become  as  firmly  as- 
sociated with  the  child-mind  as  has  Sterne's  ''tempering  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb"  with  Holy  Writ.  And  this  idea  of 
infantile  receptivity  and  retentiveness  is  held  by  an  unthink- 
ing world  in  spite  of  the  universally  accessible  fact  that  hardly 
one  of  us  can  remember  anything  that  happened  before  the 
XX  [9] 


THE   CHILD 

age  of  five,  and  very  little  that  happened  before  seven  or  eight, 
and  that  children  of  five  or  six,  removed  into  foreign  surround- 
ings, will  in  a  year  or  so^f  special  measures  are  not  taken — 
reconstruct  their  idiom  and  absolutely  forget  every  word  of 
their  mother-tongue.  This  foreign  nurse  comes  into  the  child's 
world,  bringing  with  her  quite  weird  errors  in  the  quantities, 
the  accent,  and  idiom  of  the  mother-tongue,  and  greatly  increas- 
ing the  difficulty  and  delay  on  the  road  to  thought  and  speech.* 
And  this  attempt  to  acquire  a  foreign  language  prematurely 
at  the  expense  of  the  mother-tongue,  to  pick  it  up  cheaply  by 
making  the  nurse  an  informal  teacher  of  languages,  entirely 
ignores  a  fact  upon  which  I  would  lay  the  utmost  stress  in  this 
paper,  which  indeed  is  the  gist  of  this  paper,  that  only  a  very 
small  minority  of  English  or  American  people  have  more  than 
half  mastered  the  splendid  heritage  of  their  native  speech. 
To  this  neglected  and  most  significant  limitation  the  amount 
of  public  attention  given  at  present  is  quite  surprisingly 
small. 

There  can  be  little  or  no  dispute  that  the  English  language 
in  its  completeness  presents  a  range  too  ample  and  appliances 
too  subtle  for  the  needs  of  the  great  majority  of  those  who 
profess  to  speak  it.  I  do  not  refer  to  the  half-civilized  and 
altogether  barbaric  races  who  are  coming  under  its  sway,  but 
to  the  people  we  are  breeding  of  our  own  race — the  barbarians 
of  our  streets,  our  suburban  "white  niggers,"  with  a  thousand 
a  year  and  the  conceit  of  Imperial  destinies.  They  live  in 
our  mother-tongue  as  some  half-civilized  invaders  might  live 
in  a  gigantic  and  splendidly  equipped  palace.  They  misuse 
this,  they  waste  that,  they  leave  whole  corridors  and  wings 
unexplored,  to  fall  into  disuse  and  decay.  I  doubt  if  the  ordi- 
nary member  of  the  prosperous  classes  in  England  has  much 
more  than  a  third  of  the  English  language  in  use,  and  more 
than  a  half  in  knowledge,  and  as  we  go  down  the  social  scale 
we  may  come  at  last  to  strata  having  but  a  tenth  part  of  our 
full  vocabulary,  and  much  of  that  blurred  and  vaguely  under- 

1  The  same  objection  applies  to  the  Indian  ayah  and  the  black 
"  mammy,"  who  are  such  kind,  slavish,  and  picturesque  additions  to 
the  ensemble  of  white  mother  and  children. 

x%  [  lo  ] 


THE   CHILD 

stood.  The  speech  of  the  Colonist  is  even  poorer  than  the 
speech  of  the  home-staying  EngHsh.  In  America,  just  as  in 
Great  Britain  and  her  Colonies,  there  is  the  same  limitation 
and  the  same  disuse.  Partly,  of  course,  this  is  due  to  the  petti- 
ness of  our  thought  and  experience,  and  so  far  it  can  only  be 
remedied  by  a  general  intellectual  amplification;  but  partly 
it  is  due  to  the  general  ignorance  of  English  prevailing  through- 
out the  world.  It  is  atrociously  taught,  and  taught  by  ignorant 
men.  It  is  atrociously  and  meanly  written.  So  far  as  this 
second  cause  of  sheer  ignorance  goes,  the  gaps  in  knowledge 
are  continually  resulting  in  slang  and  the  addition  of  needless 
neologisms  to  the  language.  People  come  upon  ideas  that 
they  know  no  English  to  express  and  strike  out  the  new  phrase 
in  a  fine  burst  of  ignorant  discovery.  There  are  Americans 
in  particular  who  are  amazingly  apt  at  this  sort  of  thing.  They 
take  an  enormous  pride  in  the  jargon  they  are  perpetually  in- 
creasing— they  boast  of  it,  they  give  exhibition  performances 
in  it,  they  seem  to  regard  it  as  the  culminating  flower  of  their 
Continental  Republic — as  though  the  Old  World  had  never 
heard  of  shoddy.  But  indeed  they  are  in  no  better  case  than 
that  unfortunate  lady  at  Earlswood  who  esteems  newspapers 
stitched  with  unravelled  carpet  and  trimmed  with  orange  peel 
the  extreme  of  human  splendor.  In  truth,  their  pride  is  base- 
less, and  this  slang  of  theirs  no  sort  of  distinction  whatever. 
Let  me  assure  them  that  in  our  heavier  way  we  in  this  island 
are  just  as  busy  defiling  our  common  inheritance.  We  can 
send  a  team  of  linguists  to  America  who  will  murder  and  mis- 
understand the  language  against  any  eleven  the  Americans 
may  select. 

Of  course,  there  is  a  natural  and  necessary  growth  and 
development  in  a  living  language,  a  growth  that  no  one  may 
arrest.  In  appliances,  in  politics,  in  science,  in  philosophical 
interpretation  there  is  a  perpetual  necessity  for  new  words, 
words  to  express  new  ideas  and  new  relationships,  words  free 
from  ambiguity  and  encumbering  associations.  But  the  neolo- 
gisms of  the  street  and  the  saloon  rarely  supply  any  occasion 
of  this  kind.  For  the  most  part  they  are  just  the  stupid  efforts 
of  ignorant  men  to  supply  the  unnecessary.     And  side  by  side 

XX  [  II  ] 


THE   CHILD 

with  the  invention  of  inferior  cheap  substitutes  for  existing 
words  and  phrases,  and  infinitely  more  serious  than  that  in- 
vention, goes  on  a  perpetual  misuse  and  distortion  of  those 
that  are  insufficiently  known.  These  are  processes  not  of 
growth  but  of  decay — they  distort,  they  render  obsolete,  and 
they  destroy.  The  obsolescence  and  destruction  of  words  and 
phrases  cuts  us  off  from  the  nobility  of  our  past,  from  the  severed 
masses  of  our  race  over-seas,  far  more  effectually  than  any 
growth  of  neologisms.  A  language  may  grow — our  language 
must  grow — it  may  be  clarified  and  refined  and  strengthened, 
but  it  need  not  suffer  the  fate  of  an  algal  filament  and  pass 
constantly  into  rottenness  and  decay  whenever  growth  is  no 
longer  in  progress.  That  has  been  the  fate  of  languages  in 
the  past  because  of  the  feebler  organization,  the  slenderer, 
slower  intercommunication,  and  above  all  the  insufficient 
records  of  human  communities;  but  the  time  has  come  now — 
or  at  the  worst  is  rapidly  coming — when  this  will  cease  to  be 
a  fated  thing.  We  may  have  a  far  more  copious  and  varied 
tongue  than  had  Addison  or  Spenser — that  is  no  disaster — 
but  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  keep  fast  hold  of  all 
they  had.  There  is  no  reason  why  the  whole  fine  tongue  of 
Elizabethan  England  should  not  be  at  our  disposal  still.  Con- 
ceivably Addison  would  find  the  rich,  allusive  English  of  George 
Meredith  obscure;  conceivably  we  of  this  time  might  find  a 
thousand  words  and  phrases  of  the  year  2000  strange  and 
perplexing;  but  there  is  no  reason  why  a  time  should  ever  come 
when  what  has  been  written  well  in  English  since  Elizabethan 
times  should  no  longer  be  understandable  and  fine. 

The  prevailing  ignorance  of  English  in  the  English-speak- 
ing communities  enormously  hampers  the  development  of  the 
racial  consciousness.  Except  for  those  who  wish  to  bawl  the 
crudest  thoughts,  there  is  no  means  of  reaching  the  whole 
mass  of  these  communities  to-day.  So  far  as  material  re- 
quirements go  it  would  be  possible  to  fling  a  thought  broad- 
cast like  seed  over  the  whole  world  to-day,  it  would  be  possible 
to  get  a  book  into  the  hands  of  half  the  adults  of  our  race. 
But  at  the  hands  and  eyes  one  stops — there  is  a  gap  in  the  brains. 
Only  thoughts  that  can  be  expressed  in  the  meanest  common- 
XX  [  12  ] 


THE   CHILD 

places  will  ever  reach  the  minds  of  the  majority  of  the  English- 
speaking  peoples  under  present  conditions. 

A  writer  who  aims  to  be  widely  read  to-day  must  perpetually 
hah,  must  perpetually  hesitate  at  the  words  that  arise  in  his 
mind;  he  must  ask  himself  how  many  people  will  stick  at 
this  word  ahogether  or  miss  the  meaning  it  should  carry;  he 
must  ransack  his  memory  for  a  commonplace  periphrase,  an 
ingenious  rearrangement  of  the  famihar;  he  must  omit  or  over- 
accentuate  at  every  turn.  Such  simple  and  necessary  words 
as  ''obsolescent,"  "deliquescent,"  "segregation,"  for  example, 
must  be  abandoned  by  the  man  who  would  write  down  to  the 
general  reader;  he  must  use  "impertinent"  as  if  it  were  a 
synonym  for  "impudent"  and  "indecent"  as  the  equivalent 
of  "obscene."  And  in  the  face  of  this  wide  ignorance  of 
English,  seeing  how  few  people  can  either  read  or  write  English 
with  any  subtlety,  and  how  disastrously  this  reacts  upon  the 
general  development  of  thought  and  understanding  amidst  the 
English-speaking  peoples,  it  would  be  preposterous,  even  if 
the  attempt  were  successful,  to  complicate  the  first  linguistic 
struggles  of  the  infant  with  the  beginnings  of  a  second  language. 
But  people  deal  thus  lightly  with  the  mother-tongue  because 
they  know  so  little  of  it  that  they  do  not  even  suspect  their 
own  ignorance  of  its  burden  and  its  powers.  They  speak  a 
little  set  of  ready-made  phrases,  they  write  it  scarcely  at  all, 
and  all  they  read  is  the  weak  and  shallow  prose  of  popular 
fiction  and  the  daily  press.  That  is  knowing  a  language  within 
the  meaning  of  their  minds,  and  such  a  knowledge  a  child  may 
very  well  be  left  to  "pick  up"  as  it  may.  Side  by  side  with 
this  they  will  presently  set  themselves  to  erect  a  similar  "knowl- 
edge" of  two  or  three  other  languages.  One  is  constantly 
meeting  not  only  women  but  men  who  will  solemnly  profess 
to  "know"  English  and  Latin,  French,  German,  and  Italian, 
perhaps  Greek,  who  are  in  fact— beyond  the  limited  range 
of  food,  clothing,  shelter,  trade,  crude  nationalism,  social  con- 
ventions, and  personal  vanity — no  better  than  the  deaf  and 
dumb.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  will  sit  with  books  in 
their  hands,  visibly  reading,  turning  pages,  pencilling  com- 
ments, in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  will  discuss  authors  and 
XX  [  13  ] 


THE   CHILD 

repeat  criticisms,  it  is  as  hopeless  to  express  new  thoughts  to 
them  as  it  would  be  to  seek  for  appreciation  in  the  ear  of  a 
hippopotamus.  Their  linguistic  instruments  are  no  more 
capable  of  contemporary  thought  than  a  tin  whistle,  a  xylo- 
phone, and  a  drum  are  capable  of  rendering  the  Eroica  Sym- 
phony. 

In  being  also  ignorant  of  itself  this  wide  ignorance  of  English 
partakes  of  all  that  is  most  hopeless  in  ignorance.  Except 
among  a  few  writers  and  critics,  there  is  little  sense  of  defect 
in  this  matter.  The  common  man  does  not  know  that  his 
limited  vocabulary  limits  his  thoughts.  He  knows  that  there 
are  ''long  words"  and  rare  words  in  the  tongue,  but  he  does 
not  know  that  this  implies  the  existence  of  definite  meanings 
beyond  his  mental  range.  His  poor  collection  of  every-day 
words,  worn-out  phrases,  and  battered  tropes  constitute  what 
he  calls  "plain  English,"  and  speech  beyond  these  limits  he 
seriously  believes  to  be  no  more  than  the  back-slang  of  the 
educated  class,  a  mere  elaboration  and  darkening  of  inter- 
course to  secure  privacy  and  distinction.  No  doubt  there  is 
justification  enough  for  his  suspicion  in  the  exploits  of  pre- 
tentious and  garrulous  souls.  But  it  is  the  superficial  justifi- 
cation of  a  profound  and  disastrous  error.  A  gap  in  a  man's 
vocabulary  is  a  hole  and  tatter  in  his  mind ;  words  he  has  may 
indeed  be  weakly  connected  or  wrongly  connected — one  may 
find  the  whole  keyboard  jerry-built,  for  example,  in  the  English- 
speaking  Baboo — ^but  words  he  has  not  signify  ideas  that  he 
has  no  means  of  clearly  apprehending;  they  are  patches  of  im- 
perfect mental  existence,  factors  in  the  total  amount  of  his 
personal  failure  to  live. 

This  world-wide  ignorance  of  English,  this  darkest  cloud 
almost  upon  the  fair  future  of  our  confederated  peoples,  is 
something  more  than  a  passive  ignorance.  It  is  active,  it  is 
aggressive.  In  England  at  any  rate,  if  one  talks  beyond  the 
range  of  white-nigger  English,  one  commits  a  social  breach. 
There  are  countless  "book  words"  well-bred  people  never  use. 
A  writer  with  any  tenderness  for  half-forgotten  phrases,  any 
disposition  to  sublimate  the  mingling  of  unaccustomed  words, 
runs  as  grave  a  risk  of  organized  disregard  as  if  he  tampered 
XX  [14] 


THE   CHILD 

with  the  improper.  The  leaden  censures  of  the  Times,  for 
example,  await  any  excursion  beyond  its  own  battered  circum- 
locutions. Even  nowadays,  and  when  they  are  veterans,  Mr. 
George  Meredith  and  Mr.  Henley  get  ever  and  again  a  screed 
of  abuse  from  some  hot  champion  of  Lower  Division  Civil 
Service  prose.  "Plain  English"  such  a  one  will  call  his  de- 
sideratum, as  one  might  call  the  viands  on  a  New  Cut  barrow 
"plain  food."  The  hostility  to  the  complete  language  is 
everywhere.  I  wonder  just  how  many  homes  may  not  be 
witnessing  the  self-same  scene  as  I  write.  Some  little  child 
is  struggling  with  the  unmanageable  treasure  of  a  new-found 
word,  has  produced  it  at  last,  a  nice  long  word,  forthwith  to 
be  "laughed  out"  of  such  foolish  ambitions  by  its  anxious 
parent.  People  train  their  children  not  to  speak  English 
beyond  a  threadbare  minimum;  they  resent  it  upon  platform 
and  in  pulpit,  and  they  avoid  it  in  books.  Schoolmasters  as 
a  class  know  little  of  the  language.  In  none  of  our  schools, 
not  even  in  the  more  efficient  of  our  elementary  schools,  is 
English  adequately  taught.  .  .  .  And  these  people  expect  the 
South  African  Dutch  to  take  over  their  neglected  tongue! 
As  though  the  poor  partial  King's  English  of  the  British  Colonist 
was  one  whit  better  than  the  Taal!  To  give  them  the  reality 
of  what  English  might  be:  that  were  a  different  matter  alto- 
gether. 

These  things  it  is  the  clear  business  of  our  New  Republi- 
cans to  alter.  It  follows,  indeed,  but  it  is  in  no  way  secondary 
to  the  work  of  securing  sound  births  and  healthy  childhoods, 
that  we  should  secure  a  vigorous,  ample  mental  basis  for  the 
minds  born  with  these  bodies.  We  have  to  save,  to  revive 
this  scattered^,  warped,  tarnished,  and  neglected  language  of 
ours,  if  we  wish  to  save  the  future  of  our  world.  We  should 
save  not  only  the  world  of  those  who  at  present  speak  English, 
but  the  world  of  many  kindred  and  associated  peoples  who 
would  willingly  enter  into  our  synthesis,  could  we  make  it  wide 
enough  and  sane  enough  and  noble  enough  for  their  honor. 

To  expect  that  so  ample  a  cause  as  this  should  find  any 
support  amongst  the  festering  confusion  of  the  old  politics  is 
to  expect  too  much.     There  is  no  party  for  the  English  language 
XX  [15] 


THE   CHILD 

anywhere  in  the  world.  We  have  to  take  this  problem  and 
deal  with  it  as  though  the  old  politics,  which  slough  so  slowly, 
were  already  happily  excised.  To  begin  with,  we  may  give 
our  attention  to  the  foundation  of  this  foundation,  to  the 
growth  of  speech  in  the  developing  child. 

From  the  first  the  child  should  hear  a  clear  and  uniform 
pronunciation  about  it,  a  precise  and  careful  idiom  and  words 
definitely  used.  Since  language  is  to  bring  people  together 
and  not  to  keep  them  apart,  it  would  be  well  if  throughout 
the  English-speaking  world  there  could  be  one  accent,  one 
idiom,  and  one  intonation.  This  there  never  has  been  yet, 
but  there  is  no  reason  at  all  why  it  should  not  be.  There  is 
arising  even  now  a  standard  of  good  English  to  which  many 
dialects  and  many  influences  are  contributing.  From  the 
Highlanders  and  the  Irish,  for  example,  the  English  of  the 
South  are  learning  the  possibiHties  of  the  aspirate  h  and  ivh, 
which  latter  had  entirely  and  the  former  very  largely  dropped 
out  of  use  among  them  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  drawling 
speech  of  Wessex  and  New  England — for  the  main  features 
of  what  people  call  Yankee  intonation  are  to  be  found  in  per- 
fection in  the  cottages  of  Hampshire  and  West  Sussex — are 
being  quickened  perhaps  from  the  same  sources.  The  Scotch 
are  acquiring  the  English  use.  of  shall  and  will  and  the  confu- 
sion of  reconstruction  is  world-wide  among  our  vowels.  The 
German  w  of  Mr.  Samuel  Weller  has  been  obliterated  within 
the  space  of  a  generation  or  so.  There  is  no  reason  at  all 
why  this  natural  development  of  the  uniform  English  of  the 
coming  age  should  not  be  greatly  forwarded  by  our  deliberate 
efforts,  why  it  should  not  be  possible  within  a  little  while  to 
define  a  standard  pronunciation  of  our  tongue. 

We  have  available  now  for  the  first  time,  in  the  more  highly 
evolved  forms  of  phonograph  and  telephone,  a  means  of  storing, 
analyzing,  transmitting,  and  referring  to  sounds,  that  should 
be  of  very  considerable  value  in  the  attempt  to  render  a  good 
and  beautiful  pronunciation  of  English  uniform  throughout 
the  world.  It  would  not  be  unreasonable  to  require  from  all 
those  who  are  qualifying  for  the  work  of  education  the  read- 
ing aloud  of  long  passages  in  the  standard  accent.  At  present 
XX  [  i6  ] 


THE   CHILD 

there  is  no  requirement  of  this  sort  in  England  and  too  often 
our  elementary  teachers  at  any  rate,  instead  of  being  mis- 
sionaries of  linguistic  purity,  are  centres  of  diffusion  for  blurred 
and  vicious  perversions  of  our  speech.  In  the  pulpit  and  the 
stage,  moreover,  we  have  ready  to  hand  most  potent  instru- 
ments of  dissemination,  that  need  nothing  but  a  little  sharpen- 
ing to  help  greatly  toward  this  end.  At  the  entrance  of  almost 
all  professions  nowadays  stands  an  examination  that  includes 
English,  and  there  would  be  nothing  revolutionary  in  adding 
to  that  written  paper  an  oral  test  in  the  standard  pronuncia- 
tion. By  active  exertion  to  bring  these  things  about  the  New 
Republican  could  do  much  to  secure  that  every  child  of  our 
English-speaking  people  throughout  the  world  would  hear  in 
school  and  church  and  entertainment  the  same  clear  and  defi- 
nite accent.  The  child's  mother  and  nurse  would  be  helped 
to  acquire  almost  insensibly  a  sound  and  confident  pronuncia- 
tion. No  observant  man  who  has  lived  at  all  broadly,  meet- 
ing and  talking  with  people  of  diverse  culture  and  tradition, 
but  knows  how  much  our  intercourse  is  cumbered  by  hesita- 
tions about  quality  and  accent,  and  petty  differences  of  phrase 
and  idiom,  and  how  greatly  intonation  and  accent  may  warp 
and  limit  our  sympathy. 

And  while  they  are  doing  this  for  the  general  linguistic 
atmosphere,  the  New  Republicans  could  also  attempt  some- 
thing to  reach  the  children  in  detail. 

By  instinct  nearly  every  mother  wants  to  teach.  Some 
teach  by  instinct,  but  for  the  most  part  there  is  a  need  of  guid- 
ance in  their  teaching.  At  present  these  first  and  very  im- 
portant phases  in  education  are  guided  almost  entirely  by 
tradition.  The  necessary  singing  and  talking  to  very  young 
children  is  done  in  imitation  of  similar  singing  and  talking; 
it  is  probably  done  no  better,  it  may  possibly  be  done  much 
worse,  than  it  was  done  two  hundred  years  ago.  A  very  great 
amount  of  permanent  improvement  in  human  affairs  might 
be  secured  in  this  direction  by  the  expenditure  of  a  few  thou- 
sand pounds  in  the  systematic  study  of  the  most  educational 
method  of  dealing  with  children  in  the  first  two  or  three  years 
of  life,  and  in  the  intelligent  propagation  of  the  knowledge 
XX  [17] 


THE   CHILD 

obtained.  There  exist  already,  it  is  true,  a  number  of  Child 
Study  Associations,  Parents'  Unions,  and  the  like,  but  for  the 
most  part  these  are  quite  ineffectual  talking  societies,  akin 
to  Browning  Societies,  Literary  and  Natural  History  Societies: 
they  attain  a  trifling  amount  of  mutual  improvement  at  their 
best,  the  members  read  papers  to  one  another,  and  a  few 
medical  men  and  schools  secure  a  needed  advertisement. 
They  have  no  organization,  no  concentration  of  their  energy,. 
and  their  chief  effect  seems  to  be  to  present  an  interest  in 
education  as  if  it  were  a  harmless,  pointless  fad.  But  if  a 
few  men  of  means  and  capacity  were  to  organize  a  committee 
with  adequate  funds,  secure  the  services  of  specially  endowed 
men  for  the  exhaustive  study  of  developing  speech,  publish 
a  digested  report,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  a  good  writer 
or  so,  produce  very  cheaply,  advertise  vigorously,  and  dis- 
seminate widely  a  small,  clearly  printed,  clearly  written  book 
of  pithy  instructions  for  mothers  and  nurses  in  this  matter 
of  early  speech  they  would  quite  certainly  effect  a  great  im- 
provement in  the  mental  foundations  of  the  coming  genera- 
tion. We  do  not  yet  appreciate  the  fact  that  for  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  the  world  there  exists  a  state  of  society  in 
which  almost  every  nurse  and  mother  reads.  It  is  no  longer 
necessary  to  rely  wholly  upon  instinct  and  tradition,  there- 
fore, for  the  early  stages  of  a  child's  instruction.  We  can 
reinforce  and  organize  these  things  through  the  printed  word. 

For  example,  an  important  factor  in  the  early  stage  of 
speech-teaching  is  the  nursery  rhyme.  A  little  child,  toward 
the  end  of  the  first  year,  having  accumulated  a  really  very 
comprehensive  selection  of  sounds  and  noises  by  that  time, 
begins  to  imitate  first  the  associated  motions,  and  then  the 
sounds  of  various  nursery  rhymes — pat-a-cake,  for  example. 
In  the  book  I  imagine,  there  would  be,  among  many  other 
things,  a  series  of  little  versicles,  old  and  new,  in  which,  to  the 
accompaniment  of  simple  gestures,  all  the  elementary  sounds 
of  the  language  could  be  easily  and  agreeably  made  familiar 
to  the  child's  ears. 

And  the  same  book  I  think  might  well  contain  a  list  of 
foundation  things  and  words  and  certain  elementary  forms  of 
XX  [  i8  ] 


THE  CHILD 

expression  which  the  child  should  become  perfectly  familiar 
with  in  the  first  three  or  four  years  of  life.  Much  of  each  little 
child's  vocabulary  is  its  personal  adventure,  and  Heaven  save 
us  all  from  system  in  excess!  But  I  think  it  would  be  possible 
for  a  subtle  psychologist  to  trace  through  the  easy  natural 
tangle  of  the  personal  brier-rose  of  speech  certain  necessary 
strands,  that  hold  the  whole  growth  together  and  render  its 
later  expansion  easy  and  swift  and  strong.  Whatever  else 
the  child  gets,  it  must  get  these  fundamental  strands  well  and 
early  if  it  is  to  do  its  best.  If  they  do  not  develop  now  their 
imperfection  will  cause  delay  and  difficulty  later.  There  are, 
for  example,  among  these  fundamental  necessities,  idioms  to 
express  comparison,  to  express  position  in  space  and  time, 
elementary  conceptions  of  form  and  color,  of  tense  and  mood, 
the  pronouns  and  the  like.  No  doubt,  in  one  way  or  another, 
most  of  these  forms  are  acquired  by  every  child,  but  there  is 
no  reason  why  their  acquisition  should  not  be  watched  with 
the  help  of  a  wisely  framed  list,  and  any  deficiency  deliber- 
ately and  carefully  supplied.  It  would  have  to  be  a  wisely 
framed  list,  it  would  demand  the  utmost  effort  of  the  best  in- 
telligence, and  that  is  why  something  more  than  the  trades- 
man enterprise  of  publishers  is  needed  in  this  work.  The 
publisher's  ideal  of  an  author  of  an  educational  work  is  a  girl 
in  her  teens  working  for  pocket-money.  What  is  wanted  is 
a  little  quintessential  book  better  and  cheaper  than  any  pub- 
lisher, publishing  for  gain,  could  possibly  produce,  a  book 
so  good  that  imitation  would  be  difficult,  and  so  cheap  and 
universally  sold  that  no  imitation  would  be  profitable.  .  .  . 
But  in  this  discussion  of  school-books  and  the  like,  we  wander 
a  little  from  our  immediate  topic  of  mental  beginnings. 

At  the  end  of  the  fifth  year,  as  the  natural  outcome  of  its 
instinctive  effort  to  experiment  and  learn  acting  amidst  wisely 
ordered  surroundings,  the  little  child  should  have  acquired 
a  certain  definite  foundation  for  the  educational  structure. 
It  should  have  a  vast  variety  of  perceptions  stored  in  its  mind 
and  a  vocabulary  of  three  or  four  thousand  words,  and  among 
these  and  holding  them  together  there  should  be  certain  struc- 
tural and  cardinal  ideas.  They  are  ideas  that  will  have  been 
XX  [  19  ] 


THE   CHILD 

gradually  and  imperceptibly  instilled,  and  they  are  necessary 
as  the  basis  of  a  sound  mental  existence.  There  must  be, 
to  begin  with,  a  developing  sense  and  feeling  for  truth  and  for 
duty  as  something  distinct  and  occasionally  conflicting  with 
immediate  impulse  and  desire,  and  there  must  be  certain  clear 
intellectual  elements  established  already  almost  impregnably 
in  the  mind,  certain  primary  distinctions  and  classifications. 
Many  children  are  called  stupid  and  begin  their  educational 
career  with  needless  difficulty  through  an  unsoundness  of 
these  fundamental  intellectual  elements,  an  unsoundness  in 
no  way  inherent  but  the  result  of  accident  and  neglect.  And 
a  starting  handicap  of  this  sort  may  go  on  increasing  right 
through  the  whole  life. 

The  child  at  five,  unless  it  is  color  blind,  should  know 
the  range  of  colors  by  name  and  distinguish  them  easily,  blue 
and  green  not  excepted;  it  should  be  able  to  distinguish  pink 
from  pale  red  and  crimson  from  scarlet.  Many  children 
through  the  neglect  of  those  about  them  do  not  distinguish 
these  colors  until  a  very  much  later  age.  I  think  also — in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  many  adults  go  vague  and  ignorant  on 
these  points — that  a  child  of  five  may  have  been  taught  to 
distinguish  between  a  square,  a  circle,  an  oval,  a  triangle,  and 
an  oblong,  and  to  use  these  words.  It  is  easier  to  keep  hold 
of  ideas  with  words  than  without  them,  and  none  of  these 
words  should  be  impossible  by  five.  The  child  should  also 
know  familiarly  by  means  of  toys,  wood  blocks,  and  so  on, 
many  elementary  solid  forms.  It  is  matter  of  regret  that  in 
common  language  we  have  no  easy,  convenient  words  for 
many  of  these  forms,  and  instead  of  being  learnt  easily  and 
naturally  in  play  they  are  left  undistinguished  and  have  to  be 
studied  later  under  circumstances  of  forbidding  technicality. 
It  would  be  quite  easy  to  teach  the  child  in  an  incidental  way 
to  distinguish  cube,  cylinder,  cone,  sphere  (or  ball),  prolate 
spheroid  (which  might  be  called  "egg"),  oblate  spheroid 
(which  might  be  called  ''squatty  ball"),  the  pyramid,  and 
various  parallelopipeds,  as,  for  example,  the  square  slab,  the 
oblong  slab,  the  brick,  and  post.  He  could  have  these  things 
added  to  his  box  of  bricks  by  degrees,  he  would  build  with 
XX  [  20  ] 


THE   CHILD 

them  and  combine  them  and  play  with  them  over  and  over 
again  and  absorb  an  intimate  knowledge  of  their  properties, 
just  at  the  age  when  such  knowledge  is  almost  instinctively 
sought  and  is  most  pleasant  and  easy  in  its  acquisition.  These 
things  need  not  be  specially  forced  upon  him.  In  no  way 
should  he  be  led  to  emphasize  them  or  give  a  priggish  im- 
portance to  his  knowledge  of  them.  They  will  come  into 
his  toys  and  play  mingled  with  a  thousand  other  interests,  the 
fortifying  powder  of  clear  general  ideas,  amidst  the  jam  of  play. 

In  addition  the  child  should  be  able  to  count,  it  should 
be  capable  of  some  mental  and  experimental  arithmetic,  and 
I  believe  that  a  child  of  five  might  be  able  to  give  the  sol-fa 
names  to  notes  and  sing  these  names  at  their  proper  pitch. 
Possibly  in  social  intercourse  the  child  will  have  picked  up 
names  for  some  of  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  but  there  is  no 
great  hurry  for  that  before  five  certainly,  or  even  later.  There 
is  still  a  vast  amount  of  things  immediately  about  the  child 
that  need  to  be  thoroughly  learnt,  and  a  premature  attack  on 
letters  divides  attention  from  these  more  appropriate  and 
educational  objects.  It  should  be  able  to  handle  a  pencil 
and  amuse  itself  with  freehand;  and  its  mind  should  be  quite 
uncontaminatcd  by  that  imbecile  drawing  upon  squared  paper 
by  means  of  which  ignorant  teachers  destroy  both  the  desire 
and  the  capacity  to  sketch  in  so  many  little  children.  Such 
sketching  could  be  enormously  benefited  by  a  really  intelli- 
gent teacher  who  would  watch  the  child's  efforts,  and  draw 
with  the  child  just  a  little  above  its  level. 

The  child  will  already  be  a  great  student  of  picture-books 
at  five,  something  of  a  critic  (after  the  manner  of  the  realistic 
school),  and  it  will  be  easy  to  egg  it  almost  imperceptibly  to 
a  level  where  copying  from  simple  outline  illustrations  will 
become  possible.  About  five,  a  present  of  some  one  of  the 
plastic  substitutes  for  modeling  clay  now  sold  by  educational 
dealers,  plasticine  for  example,  will  be  a  discreet  and  accept- 
able present  to  the  child — if  not  to  its  nurse. 

The  child's  imagination  will  also  be  awake  and  active  at 
five.     He  will  look  out  on  the  world  with  anthropomorphic 
(or  rather  with  paedomorphic)  eyes.     He  will  be  living  on  a 
XX  [21] 


THE   CHILD 

great  flat  earth — unless  some  officious  person  has  tried  to  mud- 
dle his  wits  by  telling  him  the  earth  is  round;  amidst  trees, 
animals,  men,  houses,  engines,  utensils,  that  are  all  capable 
of  being  good  or  naughty,  all  fond  of  nice  things  and  hostile 
to  nasty  ones,  all  thumpable  and  perishable,  and  all  conceiv- 
ably esurient.  And  the  child  should  know  of  Fairy  Land. 
The  beautiful  fancy  of  the  "Little  People,"  even  if  you  do 
not  give  it  to  him,  he  will  very  probably  get  for  himself;  they 
will  lurk  always  just  out  of  reach  of  his  desiring,  curious  eyes, 
amidst  the  grass  and  flowers  and  behind  the  wainscot  and  in  the 
shadows  of  the  bedroom.  He  will  come  upon  their  traces; 
they  will  do  him  little  kindnesses.  Their  affairs  should  inter- 
weave with  the  affairs  of  the  child's  dolls  and  brick  castles 
and  toy  foundlings.  Little  boys  like  dolls — preferably  mascu- 
line and  with  movable  limbs — as  much  as  little  girls  do,  albeit 
they  are  more  experimental  and  less  maternal  in  their  manipu- 
lation. At  first  the  child  will  scarcely  be  in  a  world  of  sus- 
tained stories,  but  very  eager  for  anecdotes  and  simple  short 
tales.  At  five  I  suppose  a  child  would  be  hearing  brief  fairy- 
tales read  aloud.  At  five  it  is  undesirable  that  the  child  should 
have  heard  horrifying  things  and  he  should  not  be  afraid  of 
the  dark.  It  is,  I  am  sorry  to  believe,  very  difficult  to  elimi- 
nate the  horrors  of  fear  absolutely  from  a  child's  life.  Vul- 
garly illustrated  toy-books  should  be  guarded  against.  Pic- 
tures of  ugly  monsters  will  haunt  imaginative  children  for 
years.  An  intelligent  censorship  may  do  much  to  ward  off 
these  sufferings  until  this  passion  of  fear — so  needless  in  the 
civilized  life — begins  that  process  of  withering  which  is  its 
destiny  under  our  present  and  future  security.  Cowardly 
mothers  and  nurses  who  scuttle  from  cows  and  dogs  and 
prancing  horses  may  do  infinite  harm  to  a  child  by  confirming 
this  vestige  of  our  animal  past.  The  simple  and  obvious 
fearlessness  of  those  about  him  should  wean  the  child  steadily 
from  his  instinctive  dread  of  strangers  and  strange  animals 
and  strange  unexpected  objects  and  sudden  loud  noises.  .  .  . 
This  is  the  hopeful  foundation  upon  which  at  or  about 
the  fifth  year  the  formal  education  of  every  child  in  a  really 
civilized  community  ought  to  begin. 

XX  [  22  ] 


XXI 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

"LANGUAGE  AS  THE  INTERPRETER  OF  LIFE  = 

BY 

BENJAMIN    IDE  WHEELER 

PRESIDENT    OF    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    CALIFORNIA 


«.  I  HE  vast  importance  which  the  use  of  language  assumes 
in  early  life  is  so  obvious  that  it  is  usually  overlooked. 
Man  is  so  wholly  a  social  animal  that  he  forgets  the  fact.  A 
grown  person  who  has  learned  our  lifers  elementary  lessons  may 
indeed  abandon  his  kind  and  continue  to  exist,  perhaps  even  to 
develop,  in  a  hermit^ s  solitude.  But  a  six  months^  babe  aban- 
doned to  ''nature^'  must  starve  or  be  devoured.  Even  conceive 
of  such  a  child  as  escaping  and  growing  up  alone  amid  the 
beasts.  He  would  grow  up  a  beast — or  very  little  more.  The 
acquisition  of  language  is  thus  the  first  great  step  in  our  mental 
development.  A  deaf  child  learns,  it  is  true,  by  imitations  of 
actions,  and  so  finally  may  have  the  world  of  language  unlocked 
to  it  in  books.  But  how  slow  is  its  advance  compared  to  that 
which  is  first  guided  by  the  ear,  that  marvelous  organism,  that 
intricate  triumph  of  mechanical  construction. 

Something  of  this  immeasurable  importance  of  language 
and  the  value  of  its  systematic  study  has  already  been  touched 
on  by  Mr.  Wells  in  the  previous  address.  It  is  here  taken  up 
and  fully  developed  by  President  Wheeler,  who  ranks  among 
our  country's  highest  authorities  upon  this  theme,  he  having 
been,  in  earlier  days,  professor  of  comparative  philology  and 
professor  of  Greek  at  Cornell.  For  the  publication  of  the  address 
thanks  are  due  not  only  to  President  Wheeler  himself  but 
also  to  the  Editors  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  who  first  printed 
and  copyrighted  it  and  by  whose  kind  permission  it  is  used  here, 
XXI  [  I  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

Blood  is  thicker  than  water,  but  language  is  more  than 
blood.  Let  any  one  debate  with  a  modern  Greek  the  ques- 
tion of  old  Greek  pronunciation,  and  undertake  to  show  him 
by  the  coolest  of  scientific  demonstration  that  it  differed  in 
essential  points  from  the  modern,  and  he  will  find  he  has  tres- 
passed upon  holy  ground.  Phonetic  law  is  for  these  Greeks 
a  pollution  of  the  sacred  temple  grounds  of  patriotism.  Belief 
in  the  essential  identity  of  the  modern  language  with  the  old 
stands  as  a  fundamental  article  of  the  national  faith.  A  Greek 
who  would  deny  it  is  a  high  traitor.  What  wonder  ?  It  is  the 
birthright  of  its  tongue  which  gives  his  people  its  first  claim, 
if  not  its  only  claim,  to  recognition  as  a  nation. 

When,  on  the  evening  of  October  20,  1827,  in  the  harbor 
of  Navarino,  the  boom  of  the  last  cannon  echoing  back  from 
the  cliffs  of  old  Sphakteria  proclaimed  the  end  of  Turkish 
domination  in  the  land  of  old  time  swayed  by  the  Hellenes, 
there  stood  sponsorless  and  nameless  before  the  nations  of 
the  world  a  population — not  yet  a  people,  but  sundry  scattered 
and  ill-ordered  groups  of  peoples  whose  habitations  chanced 
to  plant  foundations  on  the  sacred  soil.  It  was  the  same  old 
crumpled,  sea-gnawed,  sun-bathed  Greece;  but  council-house 
and  temple,  palaestra  and  theatre,  colonnade  and  college  gar- 
den, were  gone — all  was  gone  that  gave  the  ancient  life  of  the 
dwellers  in  the  land  its  outward  form  and  semblance  of  a  settled 
order,  and  made  it  a  nation's  life.  Vague  memories,  half 
caricatured  upon  the  traditions  of  a  glorious  past,  floated 
in  the  air  that  hung  over  ruin  and  site;  but  where  was  the 
people  to  enter  in  to  the  inheritance,  or  who  might  claim  ''to 
know  the  manner  of  the  god  of  the  land  "  ? 

Neither  the  leading  of  goats  to  pasture  over  the  slopes  of 
Hymettus,  the  tilling  of  the  battlefield  of  Mantinea,  nor  the 
sailing  of  fisher-boats  through  the  blue  waters  of  Salamis 
gave  to  men  a  claim  on  the  traditions  and  name  of  the  past, 
or  provided  a  bond  of  union  by  virtue  of  which  shepherds, 
peasants,  traders,  and  sailors  could  be  named  a  people  and  a 
nation.  The  population  was  of  various  blood — Greek,  Alba- 
nian, Slavic,  Frankish,  Wallachian.  But  with  all  their  diversity 
of  blood,  these  men  had  been  for  once  united  in  the  sharing 
XXI  [  2  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

of  a  common  risk  and  the  performance  of  one  common  task 
— the  expulsion  of  the  Turk.  The  fact  of  this  union  in  risking 
and  achieving  gave  the  impulse  and  the  occasion  to  the  for- 
mation of  nationality;  the  conditions  under  which  the  union 
was  inspired  gave  the  bond  its  insignia  and  its  form.  From  the 
hearths  of  the  monasteries  and  from  the  lamps  and  altars 
of  the  chapels,  the  enthusiasm  of  revolt  had  gathered  its  sacred 
fire.  The  old  Byzantine  Christian  Church  was  the  one  in- 
stitution surviving  in  that  wasted  land,  not  only  to  remind 
men  of  a  life  higher  than  that  of  "bread  alone,"  but  to  main- 
tain, by  even  the  slenderest  thread,  connection  with  a  past 
that  had  meaning  and  body  and  purpose  such  as  vindicate 
the  existence  of  nationality. 

The  language  of  the  Church,  kept  alive  in  the  ritual  of 
the  chapels  and  in  the  decadent  learning  of  the  monasteries, 
was  in  substance  the  language  in  which  Demosthenes  spoke 
and  Paul  wrote.  Feeble  as  it  might  seem  in  comparison 
with  the  old  standards,  it  still  kept  its  connection  with  the 
old,  and  was  capable  of  receiving  limitless  refreshment  from 
the  sources  of  the  old.  The  various  Greek  patois  of  the  peas- 
ants and  villagers,  on  the  other  hand,  had  long  since  passed 
beyond  the  bounds  of  literary  or  national  expression.  They 
were  now  mere  vanishing,  enfeebled  remnants  of  greatness, 
suited  to  the  chatterings  of  goatherds  and  children  and  the 
hagglings  of  petty  traders,  or  the  chantings  mayhap  of  the 
folk,  but  incapable  of  giving  an  expression  to  the  wants  and 
aspirations  of  a  nation  or  of  a  people  that  had  part  in 
the  doings  of  the  great  outer  world.  The  same  was  true  of 
the  Albanian  patois  spoken  by  large  masses  of  the  population, 
and  especially  by  most  of  the  sailor- folk  whose  prowess  on  the 
sea  had  carried  no  small  part  of  the  burden  of  war.  So  it  fell 
out  that  the  new  national  consciousness  arising  from  the  ashes 
of  the  Revolution  clothed  itself  in  the  language  of  the  Church 
which  erstwhile  had  been  the  nation.  The  Greek  patois  were 
lifted  through  this  higher  type  of  the  language  into  the  channels 
of  connection  with  the  old  Greek  speech  that  once  had  been 
the  vehicle  of  a  world-civilization,  and  a  modern  Greek,  in 
outward  form  at  least,  half  ancient,  half  recent,  arose  as  the 
XXI  [  3  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

standard  language  of  the  new  nation,  and  became  at  once  its 
educator,  its  voice,  and  its  emblem.  In  form,  in  manner, 
in  materials,  it  stands  a  living  monument  to  the  methods  and 
the  spirit  in  which  the  Greek  nationality  of  the  nineteenth 
century  was  requickened  and  reestablished  from  the  scanty 
remnants  of  the  old.  Even  when  it  drapes  the  classical  hima- 
tion  over  the  vulgate  trousers  and  waistcoat  of  to-day  in  what 
seems  fantastic  masquerading,  it  pays  thereby  its  tribute  to 
the  weirdly  sentimental  spirit  of  Philhellenism  that  has 
helped  to  make  and  maintain  the  state. 

The  lesson  taught  here  in  the  small  has,  like  so  many  of 
the  products  of  this  little  land,  its  larger  lesson  in  terms  of 
greater  things.  Every  standard  language,  as  distinguished 
from  local  folk-speech  and  dialect,  has  been  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world  the  exponent  of  some  special  movement 
in  intercourse  and  civilization,  the  garb  of  some  special  type 
of  human  culture,  the  voice  of  some  special  form  of  instituted 
order  among  men — commercial,  political,  religious,  or  cul- 
turd.  The  very  genius  of  a  standard  makes  it  something 
extended  beyond  its  natural  habitat  to  serve  the  conveniences 
of  a  wider  intercourse.  The  standard  divisions  of  time  which 
deal  in  multiples  like  12,  60,  360,  hark  back  to  the  old  Chal- 
dean astronomers,  from  whom  came  the  "60  minas  make  a 
talent,"  as  well  as  the  gross  and  the  quire.  Wherever  60 
seconds  make  a  minute  the  ancient  empire  of  Mesopotamia 
has  not  utterly  ceased  to  be.  The  conflict  of  the  metre  and 
the  foot  is  still  in  substance  a  contest  between  the  innovating 
Frenchman  and  the  sturdy  conservatism  of  English  influence. 

Latin,  once  the  speech  of  a  petty  district  by  the  Tiber, 
became  the  standard  medium  of  intercourse  for  a  mighty  em- 
pire, absorbed  into  itself  the  spirit  of  the  institution,  became 
its  outward  embodiment,  and  survives  to-day  as  a  monument 
to  the  essential  character  of  that  institution  better  and  truer 
than  Colosseum  or  Forum.  Its  present  place  in  education, 
in  literature,  in  law,  is  determined  by  the  place  that  Rome 
still  holds  in  the  organized  life  of  Europe  and  in  all  organized 
life  whose  sources  are  in  European  civilization.  A  visible 
emblem  is  the  place  it  still  holds  as  the  language  of  the  Ro- 
XXI  [  4  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

man  Church ;  for  the  Roman  Church  is  in  all  reality  the  Roman 
Empire  expressed  in  terms  of  the  things  of  the  soul.  The 
schoolboy  learns  from  his  Latin,  if  he  learns  it  well,  more  than 
words,  rules,  paradigms,  maxims,  bits  of  history,  or  scraps 
of  mythology;  he  drinks  in  the  life  of  old  Rome  and  the  spirit 
of  its  institutions, — law,  order,  organization,  authority.  There 
is  nothing  left  us,  now  that  the  Romans  are  gone,  so  Roman 
as  Latin. 

What  Latin  is  to  the  Roman  Church  Sanskrit  is  to  the 
Brahmin.  Two  thousand  years  and  more  ago  it  parted  com- 
pany with  the  vernacular,  and  ever  since  has  been  maintained 
as  a  more  or  less  artificial  standard,  serving  to  express  and 
embody  the  culture  which  made  the  classical  age  and  literature 
of  India.  What  the  Romanic  languages  are  to  Latin,  the  various 
Prakrits  of  India  are  to  Sanskrit ;  and  one  of  these  in  particular, 
the  Pali,  as  the  language  of  the  earliest  Buddhistic  writings, 
has  become  a  standard,  lifted  above  time  and  habitat,  and  is 
the  distinctive  idiom  of  Buddhism. 

When,  with  the  emergence  of  a  national  spirit  in  the  form 
of  the  Protestant  Revolution,  German  speech  in  the  sixteenth 
century  pushed  its  way  through  the  crust  of  Latin  that  had 
hitherto  overspread  the  entire  literary  expression  of  the  land, 
there  was  no  German  language;  there  was  only  a  tangle  of 
local  dialects,  none  of  which  had  been  deemed  worthy  of  con- 
veying a  message  to  Germany  at  large,  few  of  aught  else  than 
the  quick- vanishing  message  of  the  lips,  and  that  in  the  common 
homely  matters  of  every-day  village  life.  In  the  fire  and  zeal 
of  a  great  national  uprising,  of  a  struggle  that  was  a  battle  of 
language  standards  as  well  as  of  creeds,  the  German  language 
sprang  into  existence.  It  came  in  response  to  a  need,  but  it 
was  men,  and  the  message  of  men  to  men  struggling  for  ex- 
pression, that  made  it.  The  idiom  which  carried  the  burden 
of  the  great  controversy  melted  with  the  heat  of  conviction, 
and  moulded  itself  into  the  form  of  a  language  that  could 
voice  the  thought  of  a  whole  people. 

The  conquest  of  Italy  made  Latin,  the  crystallization  of 
the  Brahmin  caste  made  Sanskrit,  the  preaching  of  Buddha 
made  Pali,  the  dominance  of  Attic  standard  Greek  over  all 
XXI  [  5  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

the  dialects  of  Greece  is  a  reflection  of  Athens's  fourth-century 
dominance  in  the  sphere  of  thought  and  art,  the  modern  Greek 
is  daughter  of  the  Revolution,  German  as  a  nation's  speech 
is  an  outgrowth  of  Luther's  Reformation.  Most  great  standard 
languages  will  be  found  to  have  taken  their  rise  in  some  move- 
ment of  human  interest  that  stirred  the  lives  and  thought 
of  men  toward  a  larger  sympathy  and  a  larger  intercourse 
than  the  things  of  village,  clan,  or  cult  demanded.  It  is  the 
same  class  of  movements  which  have  begotten  nationahties, 
at  least  the  nationalities  of  the  modern  type. 

The  ancient  state  was  founded  upon  religion,  and  the  bond 
of  religion  was  in  its  genesis  a  bond  of  blood.  The  mod- 
ern state  tends  to  obscure  the  bonds  and  boundaries  of  blood 
and  to  substitute  for  them  the  ties  of  common  interest  and 
common  conditions.  Trade,  intercourse,  like  customs,  like 
forms  of  life,  like  forms  of  belief,  like  forms  of  thought,  count 
more  than  blood.  And  so  it  comes  about  that  more  and  more 
as  the  world  grows  riper  the  paths  of  nationality  and  of  lan- 
guage unite.  What  levels  the  way  for  the  one  gives  life  and  be- 
ing to  the  other.  The  oldest  state  is  the  tribe,  and  its  watch- 
word is  blood;  the  modern  state  is  the  nation,  and  the  emblem 
which  the  course  of  history  is  choosing  for  it  unmistakably 
is  language.  The  toils  and  trials  of  a  quasi-nation  like  Austria- 
Hungary,  with  its  plurality  of  tongues,  only  prove  the  rule. 
What  we  have  here  is  a  refuge,  not  a  nation. 

But  a  national  language  is  more  than  an  emblem;  more 
than  a  flag  or  a  coat  of  arms ;  more  than  a  monument  to  a  great 
historic  nation-making  act,  which  may  serve  as  a  rallying 
point  for  patriotism  and  the  sentiment  of  nationality.  It  is 
all  that,  but  it  is  thousandfold  more.  A  written  creed  or  con- 
stitution which  cannot  be  amended  or  reinterpreted  may  stand 
as  a  landmark  and  a  sacred  relic,  and  appeal  to  the  reverence 
and  even  the  affection  of  men;  but  a  very  different  thing  it 
is  from  a  body  of  usage  and  precedent  fashioned  in  historic 
testings,  such  as  is  the  English  constitution.  That  bears 
within  itself  at  any  given  time  a  record  of  past  experience 
in  composite.  A  man's  character  at  any  given  time  is  said 
to  be  the  resultant  of  all  the  conscious  choices  of  his  life.  Mis- 
XXI  [  6  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

takes  have  left  their  scars,  self-denials  have  toughened  the 
fibre  of  the  will,  lies  have  left  behind  them  perverted  vision 
of  the  truth,  deeds  of  mercy  have  made  their  deposit  of  merci- 
fulness. 

Language  is  of  like  sort  with  character.  Every  speaker 
in  all  the  generations,  in  every  word  he  has  uttered,  has  helped 
to  build  it.  Light-winged  words,  they  sped  through  the 
barriers  of  the  lips,  but  could  not  be  lost.  They  either  tended 
to  strengthen  the  standing  norm — and  that  either  in  hearer, 
speaker,  or  both — or  they  played  their  part  in  starting  diver- 
gence and  change  or  in  loosening  the  foundations  of  the  norm. 

The  crude  methods  of  the  new-born  science  of  language 
are  as  yet  but  playing  with  the  pebbles  on  the  shore  of  a  mighty 
deep.  We  read  of  etymologies,  but  they  only  tear  away  with 
cumbrous  hand  the  silken  warp  from  the  cocoons  of  words, 
and  miss  the  pattern  and  the  motive  of  the  weaving,  and  ignore 
the  life  within.  Words  are  not  words  without  context,  motive, 
and  life.  Synonyms  galore  printed  in  Italics  cannot  compass 
a  description  of  their  life-values.  The  clumsy  devices  of  letters 
cannot  yield  a  vision  of  even  their  bodily  form.  To  know  them 
really  one  must  know  them  warm — warm  with  the  life-blood 
of  actual  living  speech;  one  must  have  met  them  under  every 
variety  of  Hfe -conditions;  one  must  have  ''summered  and 
wintered"  with  them. 

W^e  arrange  them  in  paradigms,  and  think  we  have  compass- 
ed and  measured  them;  but  these  paradigm  pigeonholes  only 
betray  the  limitations  of  our  own  petty  logic.  We  try  to  cram 
words  into  compartments  under  our  so-called  rules  of  syntax, 
and  the  splendid  failure  which  results  offers  the  finest  demon- 
stration of  the  narrow  range  of  reason  as  compared  with  the 
great  background  of  soul -life,  the  vast  reaches  of  the  divine 
indefinite. 

Grammar  is  to  the  average  healthy  human  being  the  driest 
and  deathliest  of  all  the  discipHnes.  Except  as  it  serves  a  tem- 
porary practical  purpose  of  offering  a  first  approach  to  the 
acquisition  of  a  language,  or  of  presenting  to  maturer  study 
a  convenient  tentative  and  artificial  classification  of  certain 
facts,  it  brings  spiritual  atrophy  and  death  to  him  who  gives 
XXI  [  7  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

and  him  who  takes.  Treated  as  an  end  unto  itself,  it  desic- 
cates teacher  and  pupil  alike.  The  fact  requires  neither 
demonstration  nor  illustration.  The  reason  for  it,  too,  is  not 
far  to  seek.  Grammar  represents  the  application  of  a  method 
that  is  lifeless  to  a  subject-matter  that  is  life,  and  the  discrep- 
ancy between  the  method  and  the  matter  determines  the  spirit- 
ual revulsion  against  the  former.  It  is  a  case  of  inevitable 
and  eternal  misfit.  Grammar  as  we  practise  it  is  derived 
from  the  Sophists  and  the  Stoics,  and  is  still,  however  much 
we  try  to  disguise  the  fact,  based  upon  a  confidence  in  logic, 
or  something  in  the  ordering  faculties  of  the  intellect  close  akin 
thereto.  But  language,  which  is  the  property  of  life  and 
personality  in  the  whole,  will  not  yield  its  secret  to  the  meagre 
analyses  of  reason  and  intellect,  which  are  by  their  nature 
partial,  which  see  as  in  a  glass  darkly,  and  not  face  to  face. 
Language  cannot  be  unlocked  by  logic;  it  can  be  unlocked 
only  by  sympathy. 

It  would  not  be  my  purpose  to  deny  for  a  moment  the 
possibility  of  a  science  of  language  or  to  question  its  utility; 
far  from  it.  As  little  would  I  undertake  to  deny  the  possibil- 
ity of  a  science  of  theology,  merely  because  it  fails,  as  it  notably 
does,  to  cover  and  represent  the  facts  of  Hving  faith.  But 
what  we  must  recognize,  what  we  must  in  honesty  confess, 
though  it  gives  us  pain  to  do  it,  is  that  the  finest  endeavors 
of  the  finest  scientific  grammar,  like  all  other  processes  which 
apply  the  purely  objective  tests  to  the  products  of  life,  and  pre- 
eminently of  soul-life,  can  only  serve  at  the  best  as  correctives 
and  stimulants  of  vision  in  detail;  they  cannot  induct  any 
human  being  into  real  understanding  and  appreciation  of  the 
life  of  the  whole.  Learn  and  know  Meyer's  Grammar  and 
the  Kiihner-Blass  from  title-page  to  index,  and  what  a  pitiful 
travesty  that  by  itself  would  yield  upon  a  real  sympathy  with 
the  magnificent  idiom  in  which — not  merely  through  which 
by  its  content  of  idea,  but  in  which  itself — Sophocles  conveys 
the  touch  of  the  Hellenic  fervors  and  unfolds  the  Hellenic 
attitude  toward  the  universe  of  being:  love,  awe,  joy,  hope, 
regret,  simplicity,  harmony,  beauty,  temperance. 

If  language  were  a  mass  of  conventional  cipher,  like  a 
XXI  [  8  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

Volapiik  or  the  price-marks  of  a  secretive  hardware  shop;  if 
the  ordering  faculties  that  haunt  the  superficies  of  mind  had 
dominated  it  entire  and  formed  it,  as  they  have  the  price-marks, 
then  would  there  be  some  hope  for  grammar.  A  grammar  of 
Volapiik  is  an  eminently  satisfactory  thing.  A  code  telegram 
can  be  translated  by  purely  mechanical  processes.  The  trans- 
lation, however,  of  a  literary  masterpiece,  in  which  language 
is  at  the  highest  flush  of  vitality,  is  one  of  the  severest  and  most 
evasive  tasks  to  which  human  endeavor  can  address  itself. 
You  can  transfer  patches  of  flesh  and  skin,  and  even  infuse 
blood,  but  you  cannot  transfer  life  from  one  body  to  another. 
Words  do  not  live  in  dictionaries  any  more  than  plants  in 
herbariums.  They  live  in  the  usage  of  living  men.  Every 
word,  every  phrase,  has  it  subtle,  unanalyzable  coloring,  de- 
rived from  myriad  associations  in  myriad  sentences,  as  im- 
possible of  summary  and  final  description  as  a  personality. 

A  word  has  a  personal  character,  and  wherever  it  goes 
it  carries  like  a  human  being  its  character  with  it;  so  that  in 
every  use  of  it  there  is  implicit  the  power  and  the  possibility 
of  standing  for  vastly  more  than  the  special  emergency  seemed 
at  first  to  demand.  Jest  and  poetry  depend  for  much  of 
their  flavor,  as  did  old-fashioned  town-meetings,  upon  this 
habit  of  taking  along  the  entirety  of  individual  character. 
Put  language  under  the  same  severe  restraints  which  depress 
personality  and  turn  the  town-meeting  into  a  battalion  of  sol- 
diers, and  you  have  the  prose  of  the  law-code  and  the  auction- 
eer's catalogue.  But  poetry,  which  always  antedates  prose, 
as  the  Vedic  hymns  antedate  the  Brahmanas,  and  Homer  and 
the  dramatic  poets  the  orators,  is  far  more  in  accord  with  the 
inner  spirit  and  purpose  of  speech  than  is  prose.  Language  is 
indeed,  as  Emerson  said,  only  "fossil  poetry." 

Language  is  through  and  through  a  social  product.  Schlei- 
cher, the  fine  old  botanist-philologist  of  Jena,  tried  his  best 
in  vain  to  apply  to  it  the  analogies  of  his  flower-beds  and  kitchen- 
garden.  Stammbaums  and  branches  have  gone  the  way  of 
roots  and  stems.  The  laws  of  sound-change,  instead  of  being 
like  the  laws  of  nature  governing  the  growth  of  plants  and  the 
revolving  of  planets,  prove  to  be  founded  on  the  tendency  to 
XXI  [  9  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

social  compromise,  in  the  necessity  which  men  are  under  of 
getting  along  together  and  understanding  one  another,  and  re- 
semble, therefore,  the  laws  which  govern  dress-coats,  dinner- 
calls,  the  holding  of  forks,  and  the  wording  of  wedding-cards. 

Even  in  the  outward  characteristics  of  their  structure, 
languages  represent  in  the  grand  style  of  summary  the  domi- 
nant social  conditions  in  the  history  of  those  peoples  who 
speak  them.  Thus,  at  one  end  of  the  line  stand  the  so-called 
agglutinative  languages,  at  the  other  the  monosyllabic.  The 
agglutinative  languages,  of  which  the  Bantu  tongues  of  Africa 
and  the  Mongolian  of  Central  Asia  afford  illustration,  represent 
the  experience  of  widely  scattered  populations  which  main- 
tain over  a  vast  extent  of  territory  a  desultory  communication 
with  one  another.  Corresponding  to  the  necessities  of  the  case 
which  demand  that  every  idea  and  phase  of  idea  be  explicitly 
indicated,  these  languages  are  perfectly  transparent;  that  is, 
perfectly  "regular"  in  structure.  Like  modifications  of  ideas 
are  always  expressed  by  like  inflexional  elements.  Little  oi 
nothing  is  left  to  be  inferred.  Every  division  and  subdivision 
of  the  thought  is  duly  tagged  and  labelled. 

The  Chinese  goes  to  the  other  extreme.  Here  almost 
everything  is  implicit.  Far  more  is  left  to  be  inferred  from 
context,  word -order,  and  intonation  than  is  really  presented 
in  bodily  form.  The  monosyllabic  dabs  in  which  the  China- 
man speaks  are  mere  running  hints — a  shorthand  of  speech 
condensed  to  the  uttermost.  They  are  the  natural  products 
of  a  stable,  long-established,  densely-compacted  civilization, 
in  which  unwritten  precedent  outweighs  written  statutes;  in 
which  multifold  social  compromise  has  finally  made  life  ar- 
tificial in  place  of  natural,  and  its  acts  symbolic  rather  than 
presentive.  The  monosyllabic  languages  have  been  pro- 
duced under  tremendous  social  pressure.  They  represent,  from 
the  artistic  as  well  as  the  historical  point  of  view,  the  most  finish- 
ed type  of  human  speech.  The  maximum  of  idea  is  implicit 
in  their  structure.  They  contain  the  minimum  of  mechanism 
for  the  maximum  of  expression. 

We  might  multiply  illustrations  of  the  way  in  which  lan- 
guage,  sensitive  as  milk  to   its  environment,   takes  upon  it 

XXI  [lo] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

the  impress  of  social  conditions  as  they  develop  and  pass.' 
The  modern  rapid  development  of  intercourse  is,  for  instance, 
making  itself  slowly  but  irresistibly  felt  in  dulling  the  colors 
which  mark  the  linguistic  areas  on  the  map  of  the  civilized  world. 
Not  only  interchange  of  loan-words,  but  in  far  subtler  form 
the  acceptance  of  common  syntactical  moulds,  is  gradually 
lifting  the  great  European  culture-languages  toward  the  levels 
of  a  common  medium  of  communication.  While  the  question 
whether  English,  French,  Russian,  is  to  become  the  universal 
language  is  awaiting  the  slow  unfolding  of  political  and  commer- 
cial history,  this  deep  and  subtle  drift  into  unity  is  steadily 
advancing  toward  a  distant  goal.  It  means  no  more  than  that 
the  languages,  in  their  chameleon  habit,  are  taking  on  the 
colorings  of  internationalism. 

Man  is  first  and  foremost  a  social  being.  Language  is 
the  social  bond,  and  therefore  man's  badge  of  membership 
in  the  body  social;  but  more  than  that,  it  is  the  embodiment 
of  the  nature  and  spirit  of  that  social  fabric  to  which  the  in- 
dividual owns  allegiance,  and  through  which  he  becomes 
a  man.  If  that  social  spirit  is  the  logos,  then  language  is  the 
logos  made  flesh.  Man  as  a  member  of  society  is  assigned 
to  his  place  and  is  made  by  the  language  he  commands.  More 
or  less  unconsciously  we  even  locate  men  by  the  language 
they  use.  So  fine  and  exacting  are  our  tests,  for  instance, 
that  one  who  is  to  command  a  hearing  as  representative  of  a 
type  of  the  higher  civilization  of  a  nation  must,  on  platform  or 
in  pulpit,  speak  in  the  recognized  standard  of  that  civilization. 
The  dialectal  colorings  of  province  and  district,  much  as 
they  may  delight  us  in  other  ways  and  for  other  purposes,  carry 
insensibly  with  them  the  impression  of  limitation  and  provin- 
cialism. Through  the  language  a  man  speaks,  or  the  form 
of  it  he  uses  at  any  given  time  he  betrays  the  scheme  of  human 
culture  and  the  order  of  human  society  with  which  at  the  moment 
he  is  in  sympathy. 

These  considerations  concerning  the  place  and  meaning 

of   language  in  human   society  determine  what  we  believe  is 

its  place  and  meaning  in  the  education  of  mankind.     Through 

language  nations  in  the  modern  sense  are  made  and  held  to- 

XXI  [ii  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

gether.  Through  language  the  individual  is  lifted  into  member- 
ship in  the  nation.  The  child  comes  into  the  world  and  finds 
a  language  awaiting  him.  The  acquiring  of  that  language  con- 
stitutes his  first  education.  Compared  with  this  all  other  educa- 
tion is  of  entirely  secondary  importance.  Observation  of  the 
processes  by  which  a  child  acquires  its  mother  tongue  teaches 
that  it  is  not  the  language  which  is  drilled  into  the  child's  mind, 
but  it  is  the  child's  mind  which  is  fitted  into  and  expanded 
into  the  language.  Words  and  expressions  come  to  the  child, 
not  as  full  and  finished  globules  of  thought,  but  as  empty 
shells  which  he  must  fill  with  idea,  as  spools  on  which  he  must 
wind  the  warp  of  thought.  Words  are  not  defined  for  the 
child.  If  they  were,  he  could  not  understand.  He  must 
learn  their  various  uses  from  single  experiences,  and  by  slow 
and  gradual  processes  arrange  the  concepts,  which  by  asso- 
ciations, metaphors,  and  metonymies  cling  together  in 
the  mind  and  usage  of  the  language  community,  into  their 
compact  place  within  the  shell  or  about  the  spool.  In 
doing  this  he  is  coming  into  possession  of  the  folk-wisdom 
of  the  folk;  he  is  coming  into  accord  with  the  mind  of  the 
historic-social  body  of  which  he  is  to  be  a  member;  he  is  learn- 
ing to  estimate  and  quote  the  values  of  the  world  in  terms 
of  the  standard  coinage  of  his  place  and  time;  he  is  making 
himself  standing  ground  in  human  society ;  he  is  forming  and 
building  a  pou  sto  for  the  exercise  and  development  of  his 
free  personality.  Without  school  or  school-master,  text -book 
or  pedagogue,  the  child  and  then  the  man  are  brought  before 
the  seat  of  the  greatest  and  wisest  teacher  their  lives  are  ever 
in  all  their  scope  to  have,  and  this  teacher  is  their  mother 
tongue.  It  is  a  teacher  whose  learning  they  are  never  to  ex- 
haust, and  whose  stimulating  influence  toward  mental  growth 
is  not  likely  soon  to  fail.  Happy  are  they  who  are  born  into 
the  inheritance  of  a  speech  developed  and  enriched  by  highest 
literary  use  and  by  long  traditions  of  noble  expression;  for 
then  it  will  be  a  teacher  to  age  as  well  as  to  youth.  Happy 
are  they  who,  through  the  formal  education  of  the  schools,  are 
brought  into  touch  with  the  life  attitude  of  other  peoples  as 
embodied  in  their  languages,  and  especially  of  those  peoples 
XXI  [12] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

whose  spiritual  life  has  blended  into  the  early  currents  of  our 
own. 

It  is  particularly,  however,  for  the  years  of  earlier  mental 
development  that  language  plays  its  chief  involuntary  part 
as  educator.  That  which  it  does  now  without  conscious 
direction  provides  the  basis  and  guidance  for  use  in  formal  and 
systematic  education.  It  points  the  way  to  what  is  the  prime 
consideration  in  education,  even  if  it  does  not  swallow  up  and 
include  all  others. 

We  educate  a  human  being  to  the  end  that  his  personality 
may  most  nearly  fulfil  its  inherent  possibilities  within  the 
human  society  of  which  it  is  to  be  a  part.  We  do  not  seek 
primarily,  if  we  are  wise,  to  fill  the  mind  with  various  knowledge; 
for  we  know  that  the  mind  is  not  so  much  a  reservoir  as  a 
mill-wheel,  not  so  much  a  storehouse  as  a  laboratory,  not 
so  much  a  receptacle  as  an  instrument.  We  do  not,  if  we 
are  wise,  rear  the  child  in  isolation  from  life  or  in  untamed 
individualism;  for  we  know  that  man  is  born  to  live  in  society, 
and  that  society  is  historically  conditioned,  and  that  the  life 
man  lives  is  part  of  a  succession — a  historical  life. 

What  we  really  do  first  of  all,  if  we  are  wise,  is  to  take  the 
budding  bit  of  individuality  in  hand,  and  induce  it,  constrain 
it,  persuade  it,  cajole  it,  overawe  it,  and,  if  need  be,  spank  it, 
into  recognition  of  the  existing  order.  The  first  thing  a  child 
has  to  learn  is  to  do  as  it  is  told  to  do.  To  become  a  historical 
being  is  its  mission,  and  as  soon  as  possible  it  must  recognize 
the  authority  of  the  historically  constituted  order.  The  ac- 
ceptance of  the  authority  of  society  is  the  gate  through  which 
one  passes  into  freedom.  The  stern  law  it  is,  like  the  rough 
hand  of  the  paidagogos,  that  leads  us  unto  Christ ;  it  is  through 
obedience  and  conformity  to  the  spirit  that  dominates  the  world 
that  we  come  to  a  realization  of  ourselves,  and  to  our  birthright 
of  freedom  as  sons  of  God.  In  the  isolation  of  selfhood  we 
sit  without  the  pale  and  yearn  for  the  husks  the  swine  eat,  but 
once  we  have  set  our  faces  toward  home  and  order  there  is 
enough  and  to  spare.  This  is  what  is  meant,  alike  in  the 
statutes  of  society,  in  the  constitution  of  the  state,  and  in  the 
oracles  of  God,  by  the  "consent  of  the  governed." 
XXI  [13] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

It  is  the  mission  of  language  and  literature  in  education 
to  bring  young  individual  life  into  accord  with  the  moulds 
of  historical  life.  Through  word  and  phrase  and  sentence, 
through  tale  and  myth  and  verse,  mind  is  quickened  to  enter 
in  and  occupy  these  nests  and  shells  that  have  sheltered  other 
human  thought.  Mind  is  expanded  in  the  moulds  of  mind; 
not  in  the  lifeless  geometric  cells  of  logic  and  reasoning,  but  in 
the  life-cells  shapen  to  contain  the  products  of  the  soul — the 
whole,  the  living  soul. 

The  practically  logical  mind  is  a  healthy,  well-nourished 
mind — nothing  more  or  less.  Such  mind  is  produced  by 
feeding  it  during  the  years  of  development  upon  healthy  normal 
food,  not  upon  the  embalmed  food  of  the  logicians  or  the  chem- 
ists. The  Chinese  mandarins,  trained  upon  language  and 
innocent  of  pure  logic,  are  said  to  be  the  keenest  practical 
logicians  of  the  world.  The  forms  of  reasoning,  indeed,  to 
which  a  child  is  stimulated  in  catching  the  meanings  of  sen- 
tences of  the  mother  speech,  or  which  a  boy  uses  in  making  out 
the  meaning  of  a  sentence  in  his  Caesar  from  the  imperfect  data 
of  words  and  syntax,  arc  the  forms  of  contingent  reasoning, 
the  ones  which  are  almost  exclusively  employed  in  the  deci- 
sions and  judgments  of  actual  life.  Men  who  pretend  to  reg- 
ulate their  lives  according  to  well-constructed  syllogisms — 
and  it  must  be  pretence  or  self-deception,  for  there  are  no 
such  syllogisms  in  lije — are  generally  regarded  as  impossible 
men.     They  are  what  are  politely  known  as  cranks. 

The  methods  of  thought  which  are  based  upon  objective 
tests,  and  which,  whether  applied  in  the  held  of  the  human- 
ities or  of  nature  studies,  we  call  scientific,  have  their  place  in 
education  as  well  as  those  we  have  discussed;  but  in  elemen- 
tary education  they  are  to  be  introduced  gradually,  and  as 
correctives  rather  than  as  staples.  Nature  study  need  not  be 
scientific  any  more  than  language  study.  We  are  not  concern- 
ed here  with  any  conflict  between  the  study  of  nature  and  the 
study  of  the  humanities,  nor  are  we  making  protest  against 
the  scientific  method  of  studying  either;  we  are  insisting  merely 
upon  the  educational  value  that  inheres  in  the  direct  study  of 
language  and  of  language  as  literature. 
XXI  [  14  ] 


LIFE'S  INTERCOURSE 

Literary  training  can  never  be  disjoined  from  language 
study.  There  never  was  a  suggestion  more  perverse  than 
that  which  recommends  the  substitution  of  translations  for 
originals,  on  the  theory  that  all  the  great  and  choice  ideas 
can  thus  be  exploited  as  well  as  through  the  toil  of  learning 
the  language.  What,  pray,  are  these  ideas?  Why  not  pick 
them  out,  arrange  them  alphabetically  by  initial  words,  and 
print  them  in  double  columns  like  market-lists?  The  rea- 
son straight  and  simple  is  that  they  are  inseparable  from  the 
language.  Language  is  no  mere  vehicle.  It  is  itself  in  large 
part  its  own  content. 

The  main  educative  purposes  of  literary  study  and  of 
language  study  are,  in  the  end,  one  and  the  same.  They  ap- 
proach the  mysteries  of  the  folk-mind  directly.  They  deal  face 
to  face  with  the  soul  and  its  expression.  Contact  and  sympathy 
are  their  instruments;  not  the  lens,  the  scalpel,  and  the  syllogism. 
They  throw  wide  open  the  window  and  look  straight  out  into 
life  and  the  day. 

So  long  as  intimations  of  the  larger  life,  the  life  social  and 
the  life  spiritual,  have  power  to  call  man  out  of  himself  and  his 
cell,  these  studies  have  their  place  in  the  schooling  of  mankind ; 
for  the  reach  of  the  soul  is  higher  than  the  clutch  of  the  hand. 


XXI  [15] 


XXII 


THE  BOY 

"HIS    PREPARATION    FOR    MANHOOD '* 

BY 

DANIEL  COIT  OILMAN 

FORMER    PRESIDENT    OF    THE    JOHNS     HOPKINS     UNIVERSITY    AND    OF    THE    CARNEGIE 

INSTITUTION 


cr'HE  name  oj  Daniel  Coit  Gilman  has  long  ranked  among 
the  very  foremost  oj  American  educators  and  scholars. 
Five  years  ago  he  resigned  his  position  at  the  head  oj  the  world- 
renowned  university  oj  Johns  Hopkins,  having  assumed  the 
presidency  oj  the  Carnegie  Institution,  which  was  then  established 
in  Washington  jor  the  advancement  oj  scientific  research.  This 
distinguished  office  he  resigned  in  igo4  at  the  approach  oj  age; 
hut  he  still  remains  an  official  connection  with  both  institutions. 
Perhaps  in  all  our  land  there  is  no  man  who  has  had  such  long, 
such  wide,  and  such  varied  experience  as  Dr.  Gilman  with  hoys, 
and  with  young  men  just  ceasing  to  he  hoys.  Therejore  his  words 
upon  this  subject  must  have  a  permanent  value  and  interest  jor 
us  all. 

Our  previous  address  dealt  with  the  child,  the  problems  that 
surround  his  earliest  days,  the  mists  in  which  his  emerging  mental 
power  is  involved,  and  through  which,  seeking  to  guide  him,  we 
grope  blindly.  As  he  advances  into  boyhood  his  steps  grow 
firmer,  the  enwrapping  mist  less  dense.  Something  oj  vagueness 
must  always  intervene,  hiding  each  human  personality  jrom  all 
the  rest,  yet  as  the  child  learns  to  talk  and  to  think  he  begins  to 
bridge  the  gap  which  holds  his  mind  secreted  jrom  older  minds. 
He  analyzes  himselj  in  some  crude  way^  and  so  helps  us  to  analyze 
xxn  [  i] 


THE  BOY 

him.  Moreover,  as  Dr.  Gilman  well  points  out,  memory,  each 
man's  memory  oj  his  own  boyhood,  scarce  reaching  hack  below  the 
age  of  five  or  ten,  still  further  enables  us  to  understand.  Hence  the 
chief  problems  which  confront  most  boyhoods  are  well  known. 
They  can  be  faced  and  fought.  Much  help,  very  jnuch  help  in- 
deed, can  be  given  to  the  lad  in  solving  his  own  problems.  And 
alas,  so  much  is  needed,  so  much  more  even  than  we  can  give! 
To  start  '^right'^  upon  one^s  manhood  is  no  easy  task.  There  are 
so  many  hampering  habits  easily  acquired,  so  many  pitfalls  every- 
where ensnaring,  so  many  follies,  so  many  vices. 

While  the  difficulties  stand  out  clearer  than  those  of  childhood, 
the  problems  are  more  serious;  they  loom  larger  and  seem  far  more 
doubtful  of  solution.  The  child  yields  to  control,  but  with  spring- 
ing youth  the  hand  of  guidance  is  thrown  aside.  The  fences  are 
broken  down,  the  young  steer  will  to  the  meadow,  the  young  blood 
will  to  the  fray.  Let  us  seek  such  knowledge  on  the  subject,  such 
assistance  in  handling  our  own,  as  one  man's  venerable  thought 
and  experience  can  ofier. 

I  AM  not  sure  that  people  are  agreed  upon  the  limits  of  boy- 
hood. Shakespeare  divides  Jife  into  seven  ages,  of  which  the 
second  is  "the  whining  schoolboy,  with  his  satchel  and  shining 
morning  face,  creeping  like  snail  unwillingly  to  school,"  and 
other  writers  regard  with  a  superstitious  reverence  the  multiples 
of  seven,  as  climacterics  leading  up  to  "  the  grand  climacteric  "  of 
nine  times  seven;  but  I  prefer  to  count  the  first  twenty  or  twenty- 
one  years  as  those  of  boyhood;  then  comes  early  manhood — 
another  twenty  years ;  the  third  score  is  that  of  middle  age  and 
maturity,  and  the  fourth,  of  seniority.  It  is  only  centenarians 
who  can  truly  be  called  old  in  these  days  which  have  so  recently 
known  a  Gladstone,  Manning,  Ruskin,  Tennyson,  Bismarck, 
Moltke,  and  a  Kaiser  Wilhelm;  octogenarians  and  nonagena- 
rians are  only  in  advancing  years.  At  Commencements,  gray- 
haired  men  who  have  grandsons  in  college  allude  to  their  class- 
mates as  "the  boys,"  and  appear  to  think  that  calling  a  man 
young  makes  him  so.  But  the  boys  I  am  to  speak  of  have  not 
been  to  college;  they  are  under  their  majority,  and  most  of  them 
less  than  eighteen  years  of  age.  I  refer  to  the  boys  of  Berkeley, 
xxn  [2] 


THE   BOY 

of  Exeter,  of  Andover,  of  St.  Paul's,  of  Norwich,  of  Lawrence- 
ville,  and  of  hosts  of  other  schools.  I  do  not  refer  to  the  ghosts 
of  boys,  hke  one  that  went  the  rounds  with  Doctor  Holmes  when 
he  returned,  after  fifty  years  or  so,  to  the  scenes  of  his  youth  and 
the  academy  in  Andover.  ^'  The  ghost  of  a  boy  was  at  my  side," 
he  says,  ''as  I  wandered  among  the  places  he  knew  so  well." 
The  ghost  went  with  him  even  to  the  railroad  station.  *'  Give 
me  two  tickets  to  Boston,"  said  the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast 
Table;  but  the  Uttle  ghost  replied,  "When  you  leave  this  place 
you  leave  me  behind  you."  ''  One  ticket,  then,  to  Boston,"  said 
the  tale-teller ;  "  and  good-bye,  little  ghost." 

But  in  reality  do  men  ever  say  good-bye  to  "  the  little  ghost "  ? 
Is  he  not  with  us  night  and  day,  summer  and  winter,  all  our  lives 
through,  and  are  we  sure  that  even  death  will  part  us  from  him  ? 
Ask  the  older  men  of  your  acquaintance  and  see  if  the  ghost  of  a 
boy  is  not  always  near  by.  Ask  even  Doctor  Holmes — if  only 
one  could  still  ask  him  "over  the  tea-cups" — if  the  ghost  of  a 
boy  whom  he  left  at  the  Andover  station  did  not  fly  through  the 
air  and  meet  him  when  he  reached  his  house  on  Beacon  Street. 
Ask  him  if  the  Httle  ghost  has  never  appeared  in  Cambridge  or 
in  Berkshire — yes,  ask  him  if  the  ghost  is  not  always  with  him, 
sometimes  a  recording  angel,  and  sometimes  a  prophet  of  im- 
mortality. 

Is  it  not  worth  while  for  us  older  people  to  tell  the  boys  that 
a  Httle  ghost  will  always  keep  them  company — that  as  they  grow 
older  he  will  remind  them  perpetually  of  the  past;  every  pecca- 
dillo will  be  remembered,  and  all  healthy,  honest  deeds  will  be 
treasured  in  the  cells  of  memory  "  to  be  used  as  directed  "  ? 

During  recent  years  there  have  been  some  very  curious 
studies  respecting  the  natural  history  of  boys.  Mr.  Howells, 
the  novehst,  has  written  a  book  that  he  calls  A  Boy^s  Town,  and 
in  its  pages  he  delineates  with  the  realistic  touch  of  a  master  the 
thoughts  of  a  boy  between  his  third  and  his  eleventh  year,  who 
grew  up  in  a  country  town  on  the  Miami  River.  Literature  is 
full  of  autobiographies,  but  here  we  have  something  quite  un- 
usual, something  quite  fresh  in  the  literature  of  childhood.  It 
is  a  picture  drawn  with  accuracy  by  a  writer  while  still  young,  of 
the  environment  in  which  he  was  brought  up.  Here  we  may 
xxn  [3] 


THE   BOY 

learn  what  an  American  boy  surmised,  discovered,  and  believed 
in  respect  to  the  world  in  which  he  was  placed. 

By  a  curious  coincidence,  whether  conscious  or  unconscious  I 
cannot  say,  a  celebrated  French  writer,  whose  nom  de  plume  is 
Pierre  Loti,  has  drawn  a  companion  picture  to  that  of  Howells. 
In  these  two  books  we  may  compare  the  Huguenot  and  the 
American.  The  Frenchman,  with  a  Hvely  imagination  and  a 
love  of  adventure,  was  subjected  to  the  depressing  influences  of  a 
French  country  town.  On  the  prairie  all  was  freedom;  in  the 
province  all  was  restraint.  But  we  see  how  both  natures  rose 
above  their  belongings,  how  the  self-determining  power  of  the 
will  made  them  both  keen  observers,  graceful  narrators,  dis- 
tinguished novelists. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  studies  of  the  inherent  tendency 
of  boys  to  organize  society  may  be  found  in  a  paper  entitled 
"Rudimentary  Society  among  Boys,"  that  was  written  some 
time  ago  by  Mr.  J.  Hemsley  Johnson,  a  connection  of  Reverdy 
Johnson,  the  Maryland  statesman.  In  this  paper  we  have  the 
story  of  the  life  among  the  McDonogh  school  boys,  in  their 
country  home  a  few  miles  from  Baltimore.  Several  hundreds  of 
acres,  with  predominant  woodlands,  belonged  to  the  school,  but 
the  boys  thought  that  the  land  and  all  that  grew  or  was  nourished 
upon  it  belonged  to  them ;  so  they  established  their  rights  to  the 
walnut  trees  and  the  birds'  nests,  and  afterw^ard  to  the  portions 
of  cultivated  grounds.  The  germs  of  civilized  society  were  soon 
developed.  "No  right  without  its  duty,  no  duty  without  its 
rights."  Authority,  law,  penalty,  inheritance,  trade,  circulating 
medium,  were  all  evolved  by  the  boys. 

Doctor  Stanley  Hall  has  published  a  kindred  memoir,  in 
which  he  has  described  the  amusements  of  children.  He  calls 
his  paper  "The  Story  of  a  Sand  Pile." 

Perhaps  we  are  coming  to  the  time  when  the  comparative  bi- 
ography of  boys  will  take  its  place  beside  the  comparative  history 
of  nations  and  the  comparative  geography  of  lands.  We  shall 
not  only  be  able  to  distinguish  how  boys  differ  from  men,  and 
how  their  ways  differ  from  those  of  girls ;  but  we  may  learn  how 
boys  differ  from  boys,  at  different  periods,  in  different  families, 
with  different  talents  and  with  different  hopes  and  expectations. 
XXII  [  4  ] 


THE  BOY 

Boys  may  be  classified  into  genera  and  species,  not  according 
to  what  they  know,  but  according  to  what  they  are.  The  school 
affords  an  easy  method  of  placing  them  in  forms,  grades,  classes 
— almost  as  exact  as  that  of  the  tailor  who  places  them  in  coats  of 
different  sizes — but  what  a  boy  has  learned  is  only  one  element  in 
an  estimate  of  his  worth.  It  is  more  important  to  discover 
what  are  his  capacities,  to  what  intellectual  and  moral  group  he 
belongs ;  what  are  his  tendencies  toward  nodosities  that  must  be 
counteracted ;  what  are  his  aptitudes  to  be  cultivated ;  what  are 
the  habits  that  must  be  regulated  so  that  they  shall  be  helps  and 
not  hinderances  in  the  battle  of  life. 

With  all  the  accumulated  experience  of  mankind  it  is  still 
extremely  difficult  to  foretell  what  a  boy  will  become.  It  is 
possible  to  predict  the  speed  that  a  thoroughbred  colt  will  ap- 
proximate, as  Professor  Brewer  has  shown,  or  to  anticipate  the 
quality  of  a  terrier  or  a  pointer,  of  an  Ayrshire  or  a  Durham ;  but 
who  is  wise  enough  to  discover  in  the  nursery  the  coming  states- 
men, poets,  scholars,  and  divines,  or  even  to  foretell  what  quah- 
ties  will  be  developed  in  any  group  of  schoolboys?  Who  can 
estimate  the  power  of  the  individual,  the  self,  the  ego,  that  dwells 
in  each  bodily  frame,  and  asserts  in  the  course  of  hfe  its 
supreme  authority  ?  One  of  the  most  impressive  sermons  deliv- 
ered by  Charles  Kingsley  in  Westminster  Abbey  was  a  sermon 
on  the  monosyllabic,  the  monogram,  I. 

No  parent,  no  teacher,  no  physician,  no  philosopher  is  wise 
enough  to  speak  infalUbly  upon  such  important  questions. 
There  are  no  logical  formulas,  no  canons  of  criticism,  no  physio- 
logical tests  by  which  conclusions  may  be  reached.  Neverthe- 
less, there  are  signs  and  tokens  which  indicate  the  probabilities, 
and  by  these  the  wise  instructor,  the  observing  mother,  the  pru- 
dent father  will  be  guided. 

One  way  of  arriving  at  a  knowledge  of  boys  is  by  reminis- 
cence. Old  men  Hke  to  renew  their  youth  by  retrospection. 
They  imagine  themselves  young  because  they  recall  so  vividly 
the  days  of  their  childhood,  but  they  are  in  danger  both  of 
Scylla  and  Charybdis.  They  may  err  by  vanity  and  imagine 
that  they  were  more  excellent  than  they  really  were ;  or  they  may 
err  by  modesty,  and  blame  themselves  for  faults  which  were  not 
XXII  [  5  ] 


THE   BOY 

so  personal  as  they  were  circumstantial.  In  rare  cases  we  may 
get  an  introspective  view  of  a  boy's  life,  written  while  he  was  a 
boy,  but  I  do  not  remember  any  mascuhne  diary  like  that  of 
Marie  Bashkirtseff,  the  prodigy  of  egotism,  the  genius  run  wild, 
the  morbid  sclf-auscultator  who  could  listen  to  the  beatings  of 
her  own  heart  and  register  the  sounds  of  her  own  respiration. 

It  is  almost  a  fashion  in  these  days  for  men  who  have  ac- 
quired distinction  to  write  the  memoirs  of  their  boyhood.  Two 
of  my  colleagues  at  Johns  Hopkins,  Professor  Gildersleeve,  the 
Grecian,  and  Professor  Newcomb,  the  astronomer,  published 
accounts  of  the  "formative  influences"  to  which  they  were 
subjected.  I  learn  that  my  successor,  President  Remsen,  has 
this  year  done  something  similar  in  his  reminiscences  for  the 
history  of  the  New  York  City  College,  his  Alma  Mater.  Presi- 
dent Dwight  and  President  A.  D.  White  once  wrote  similar 
articles.  Noteworthy  Englishmen — Tyndall,  Lecky,  Farrar, 
and  Frederic  Harrison  among  the  number — have  written  the 
story  of  their  youth.  Ruskin,  poet,  artist,  naturahst,  philoso- 
pher, revealed  under  such  cryptogamic  titles  as  the  Springs  of 
Wandel,  Heme  Hill,  Almond  Blossoms,  and  the  Banks  of  Tay, 
the  Hfe  of  a  boy  as  it  appears  to  a  septuagenarian.  Frankhn 
wrote  his  autobiography,  so  did  Gibbon,  so  did  Rousseau ;  and 
so  we  can  go  farther  and  farther  back  in  history  till  we  reach  the 
Confessions  of  Saint  Augustine.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  that 
among  the  writers  of  our  own  day  many  fall  back  on  the  term  of 
the  day,  heredity,  which  seems  to  serve  equally  well  as  a  scape- 
goat and  as  a  mentor. 

The  sum  of  all  that  I  have  been  able  to  discover  from  these 
and  many  other  writings,  and  from  innumerable  opportunities 
to  study  boys,  may  be  very  briefly  stated. 

Every  boy  differs  from  every  other  boy  in  character  as  he 
does  in  appearance.  Even  twins,  while  they  closely  resemble 
one  another  in  many  respects,  may  differ  essentially  in  funda- 
mental tastes  and  talents.  Mr.  Galton  says  that  extreme  simi- 
larity and  extreme  dissimilarity  are  nearly  as  common  between 
twins  of  the  same  sex  as  moderate  resemblance.  If  this  is  con- 
firmed, what  becomes  of  heredity  ? 

The  corollary  is  obvious,  that  plans  of  education  should  as 
XXII  [  6  ] 


THE  BOY 

far  as  possible  be  adapted  to  individual  requirements;  but  as 
every  boy  is  preparing  for  life  among  his  fellows,  and  as  Prov- 
idence has  so  ordered  it  that  he  is  strongly  influenced  by  other 
boys,  it  follows  that  to  treat  him  alone,  away  from  comrades,  in 
the  backwoods,  in  a  cell,  under  exclusive  instruction,  is  only 
justifiable  under  extraordinary  circumstances.  He  comes  into 
the  world  not  only  as  an  individual,  with  his  own  responsibihties 
and  possibilities,  but  as  one  of  a  family,  a  neighborhood,  a  race, 
from  which  he  cannot  be  extricated  except  by  death.  Isolation 
is  therefore  as  unnatural  as  it  is  undesirable  and  diflicult. 

Every  boy  is  influenced  both  by  his  inheritance  and  his  en- 
vironment. Yet  the  laws  of  heredity  in  the  human  species  are 
not  well  enough  known  to  give  us  any  certain  indications  of 
what  the  child  of  any  parents  will  become,  while  the  conditions 
in  which  a  person  lives  are  as  complex  as  the  elements  that 
nourish  his  body,  the  air  he  breathes,  the  water  he  drinks;  as 
subtle  and  insinuating  as  the  tones  of  the  voice,  the  glance  of  the 
eye,  the  nod  of  the  head,  the  pressure  of  the  hand ;  as  influential 
as  religious  faith,  the  forms  of  civil  government,  the  habits  of 
society,  the  lessons  of  antiquity,  the  examples  of  good  men;  and 
as  trifling  as  a  careless  word,  a  thoughtless  joke,  a  timely  hint,  a 
friendly  warning  or  a  loving  smile. 

Until  he  reaches  maturity  every  boy  requires  positive  guid- 
ance from  those  who  have  had  a  longer  experience  in  the  ways  of 
the  world.  It  is  always  cruel,  and  it  may  be  criminal,  to  allow  a 
youth  to  experiment  for  himself  upon  conduct — to  say  that  he 
must  sow  his  own  wild  oats,  that  experience  is  the  best  teacher, 
that  he  must  choose  his  own  course.  Every  boy  is  entitled  to 
know  what  older  persons  have  discovered  of  the  laws  of  conduct, 
and  to  receive  restraint,  caution,  and  warning  until  his  eyes  have 
been  opened  and  his  powers  of  judgment  developed.  Nobody 
c^uestions  that  he  ought  to  be  taught  the  laws  of  health,  of  diet,  of 
poisons,  of  climate,  or  the  laws  that  protect  his  person  and 
property ;  and  it  is  surprising  that  anybody  should  question  his 
right  to  initiation,  by  stringent  disciphne,  into  the  laws  of  intel- 
lectual and  moral  well-being.  Every  boy,  whether  he  wishes  it 
or  not,  should  be  trained.  Yet  the  contrary  doctrine  is  covertly 
held,  if  not  openly  avowed,  by  many  a  tender  mother  and  by 
XXII  [  7  ] 


THE   BOY 

many  a  generous  father.  Note  the  autobiography  of  John 
Stuart  Mill. 

Neither  precocity  nor  dulness  is  any  certain  index  of  the 
future  of  a  boy.  Only  a  wise  man  can  tell  the  difference  be- 
tween the  priggishness  of  conceit  and  the  display  of  unusual 
talent,  and  it  takes  a  superlatively  wise  man  to  devise  right 
methods  for  exciting  temperaments  that  are  dull,  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  guide  a  genius.  Abnormal  brilliancy  and  abnormal 
slowness  are  usually  the  result  of  abnormal  physical  conditions, 
and  physiologists  are  only  just  beginning  to  show  to  ordinary 
parents  how  these  unusual  conditions  may  be  discovered  and 
treated.  When  we  see  a  man  we  cannot  tell  what  sort  of  a  boy 
he  came  from,  and  when  we  see  a  boy  we  cannot  tell  what  sort  of 
man  he  will  make.  The  great  Emperor  Charles  V,  who  grew 
old  prematurely,  was  slow  in  his  development,  and  was  nearly 
twenty-one  before  his  beard  grew.  The  facts  lately  collected 
by  Doctor  Scripture  in  regard  to  mathematicians  show  how  im- 
possible it  is  to  prophesy  in  respect  to  the  development  of  hypo- 
thetical genius.  Some  who  have  risen  to  great  distinction,  like 
Gauss,  Ampere,  Safford,  were  precocious  mathematicians  in 
their  youth;  another  boy  of  extraordinary  parts,  Thomas  Fuller, 
the  Virginia  calculator,  remained  an  idiot.  Daniel  Webster, 
greatest  of  New  England  orators,  broke  down,  we  are  told,  in  his 
early  speaking.  Most  boys  that  run  away  from  home  take  the 
road  to  ruin ;  but  the  liberator  of  Greece,  Sir  Richard  Church, 
who  died  a  few  years  ago  in  Athens,  honored  by  a  public  funeral 
and  by  a  monument  raised  by  the  Greek  nation  to  commemorate 
his  services,  was  a  boy  of  under  size,  of  Quaker  parentage,  who, 
before  he  was  sixteen  years  of  age,  ran  away  from  home  and 
*'  took  the  king's  shiUing." 

The  influence  of  modern  psycho-physiological  inquiries  upon 
the  coming  generations  is  still  undetermined.  The  good  that  is 
aimed  at  may  perhaps  surpass  the  evil  that  is  done.  Certainly, 
in  these  days,  when  morbid  self-consciousness,  extreme  sensi- 
tiveness, bashfulness,  shyness,  and  timidity  are  so  frequently 
apparent,  the  wise  parent,  the  wise  teacher  will  hesitate  before 
encouraging  in  his  own  family  or  his  own  school  too  intense  and 
too  prolonged  introspection.  Give  the  boys  plenty  of  open  air, 
XXII  [  8  ] 


THE   BOY 

and  when  they  cannot  have  this,  encourage  within  doors  exer- 
cise in  hand-craft,  the  use  of  tools,  and  knowledge  of  the  book  of 
sports — not  to  the  exclusion  of  other  studies,  but  as  collateral 
security  that  the  mind  and  the  body  shall  be  simultaneously 
developed.  As  an  example,  the  stories  that  we  have  of  Daniel 
Webster's  boyhood  are  very  instructive.  You  may  find  them  in 
Morse's  life  of  the  great  orator  of  New  England.  The  infant 
was  a  rather  sickly  little  being  at  its  birth,  and  some  cheerful 
neighbors  predicted  that  it  would  not  hve  long.  For  many  years 
the  boy  was  weak  and  deHcate.  Manual  labor,  the  common  lot 
of  farmer's  sons,  was  out  of  the  question  in  his  case.  But  now 
hear  the  other  side  of  the  story.  "Young  Webster  was  allowed 
to  devote  much  of  his  time  to  play,  to  play  of  the  best  sort,  in  the 
woods  and  fields."  The  bar  and  the  senate  and  the  cabinet  tell 
the  conclusion  of  a  career  which  began  with  such  meagre  hopes. 

Healthy,  out-of-door  Hves,  directed  toward  objects  of  en- 
joyment, of  observation,  of  sport,  of  acquisition,  are  better  for 
boys  than  exclusive  devotion  to  books,  and  especially  than 
habits  of  introspection,  self-examination,  casuistry,  journal- 
writing. 

Of  all  the  facts  that  the  world  has  accumulated  with  respect 
to  the  art  of  training,  but  httle  has  been  reduced  to  intelHgible 
terms  respecting  the  methods  of  producing  this  or  that  variety 
of  character.  Certain  general  principles  have  indeed  been  es- 
tabKshed,  like  the  vague  laws  of  health:  "eat  nothing  improper, 
drink  nothing  improper,  do  nothing  improper,  and  you  will  be 
well";  but  how  shall  we  counteract  the  insidious  microbe  that 
may  ruin  all  our  expectations  of  health  and  thwart  our  incessant 
carefulness?  "Go  to  school,  learn  your  lessons,  win  your 
diplomas,"  are  directions  as  good  as  they  are  sim.ple;  but  how 
shall  the  bacteria  be  got  rid  of  that  appear  in  the  forms  of  bad 
company,  laziness,  lack  of  interest  in  certain  branches  of  study, 
inabiHty  to  master  the  calculus  or  the  Greek  subjunctive,  deceit- 
ful facility,  corrosive  vanity,  excessive  versatihty,  unusual  ob- 
stinacy, or  that  incapacity  to  accept  discipKne  which  is  the  exact 
reverse  of  what  George  EHot  calls  "  genius  "  ?  Why  is  it  that  no 
school  of  painting  can  promise  to  make  a  great  painter  of  any 
candidate,  however  promising;  that  no  college  can  assure  a 
XXII  [  9  ] 


THE   BOY 

parent  that  his  son  shall  become  a  scholar;  that  no  lessons  in 
English  composition  will  make  an  orator  or  a  poet;  that  pro- 
longed studies  in  history  and  pohtics  do  not  produce  statesmen  ? 
Is  it  not  still  more  remarkable  that  the  incessant  care  of  the  best 
and  wisest  parents  and  teachers  is  so  often  counteracted  by  the 
examples  and  the  temptations  of  boyhood  and  manhood  ? 

Schools  are  not  restricted  to  boyhood.  They  are  the  ar- 
rangements of  nature  and  Providence  and  society,  by  which,  at 
every  stage  of  our  existence,  we  are  prepared  for  something 
beyond.  The  cradle  is  a  school,  and  so  is  the  nursery.  The 
kindergarten  and  the  infant  class  are  of  a  little  higher  grade. 
Grammar  schools  and  colleges  come  next.  Then  come  the  high 
schools  that  we  call  universities,  with  their  departments  of  law, 
medicine,  theology,  and  the  liberal  arts.  All  along  the  course  are 
supplementary  schools,  spreading  out  their  tentacles  for  the 
capture  of  those  who  are  not  bound  elsewhere.  Sooner  or  later 
for  us  all  begins  the  pedagogy  of  life — the  school  of  practice, 
where  the  lessons  of  the  books  are  applied  to  the  affairs  of  men. 
So  Milton  sings : 

* '  All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so, 
As  ever  in  my  great  Task-master's  eye.'- 

Likewise  George  Herbert  : 

"Lord,  with  what  care  thou  hast  begirt  us  roundl 
Parents  first  season  us,  then  schoolmasters 
Deliver  us  to  laws ;  they  send  us  bound 
To  rules  of  reason,  holy  messengers. " 

From  the  cry  of  the  infant  to  the  last  breath  of  the  centenarian, 
life  is  one  long  school,  without  hoHdays  or  vacations.  Each  day 
has  its  lessons,  each  decade  its  reviews. 

We  often  read  in  the  newspapers  that  some  prominent  person 
was  a  self-made  man.  Francis  Lieber  used  to  ridicule  this 
phrase  by  saying  that  he  should  Hke  to  stand  by  while  a  man  was 
making  himself.  But  the  absurdity  of  such  a  phrase  has  never 
been  more  clearly  stated  than  by  Mr.  Charles  A.  Dana,  in  his 
recent  eulogy  of  Horace  Greeley.  Mr.  Greeley  is  an  examolc 
almost  as  striking  as  Benjamin  FrankHn  or  Abraham  Lincoln, 
of  what  a  man  may  become  without  scholastic  discipline.  The 
XXII  [  lo  ] 


THE  BOY 

three  were  men  of  exceptional  talent,  exceptional  vigor,  and  ex- 
ceptional power  of  will.  Mr.  Dana  says  of  Greeley :  "  He  was  a 
man  of  almost  no  education;  indeed,  of  no  education  at  all  ex- 
cept what  he  had  acquired  for  himself,"  and  then  he  adds  these 
sage  words:  "The  worst  school  that  a  man  can  be  sent  to  (and 
the  worst  of  all  it  is  for  a  man  of  genius)  is  what  is  called  a  self- 
education.  There  is  no  greater  misfortune  for  a  man  of  extraor- 
dinary talent  than  to  be  educated  by  himself,  because  he  has  of 
necessity  a  very  poor  schoolmaster.  There  is  nothing  more 
advantageous  to  an  able  youth  than  to  be  thrown  into  contact 
with  other  youths  in  the  conflict  of  study  and  in  the  struggle  for 
superiority  in  the  school  and  in  the  college.  That  was  denied  to 
Mr.  Greeley.  He  knew  no  language  but  his  own;  but  of  that  he 
possessed  the  most  extraordinary  mastery." 

And  now  I  have  a  few  words  to  add  in  respect  to  what  is 
commonly  called  ''the  preparatory  school,"  the  place  where  boys 
are  prepared  for  college.  Not  all  its  pupils  will  go  to  college, 
it  is  true,  but  all  have  chosen,  or  have  been  chosen,  to  follow  a 
course  of  training  which,  by  the  common  consent  of  educated 
men,  leads  up  to  a  college  course.  "He  was  fitted  for  college" 
is  a  phrase  that  marks  an  epoch  in  education  quite  as  distinctly 
as  the  phrase  a  "Bachelor  of  Arts."  It  means  that  a  youth  of 
fair  parts,  during  his  teens,  has  been  taught  the  elements  of 
mathematical  science,  and  two  or  three  languages  in  addition  to 
his  mother  tongue;  that  he  has  been  introduced  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  natural  world,  and  that  he  has  some  acquaintance  with 
his  own  country  and  his  own  stock.  It  should  also  mean  that  he 
has  learned  the  difhcult  art  of  study,  and  has  acquired  good 
habits  of  attention,  memory,  and  simple  accurate  expression. 
In  addition,  the  phrase  is  beginning  to  imply  that  the  boy  has 
begun  the  study  of  some  branch  of  science,  and  has  at  least 
learned  how  to  observe  the  phenomena  of  the  animate  life  and  of 
the  inanimate  forces  by  which  he  is  surrounded.  Side  by  side 
with  these  intellectual  lessons  moral  discipHne  is  also  given. 

Certainly  one  of  the  first  requisites  of  a  good  preparatory 

school  is  bodily  disciphne.     This  is  partly  to  be  secured  by 

watchfulness  in  respect  to  posture,  diet,  repose,  gymnastics, 

within  the  school  walls;    it  is  to  be  still  further  promoted  by 

XXII  [ii] 


THE   BOY 

abundant  exercise  in  the  open  air.  Manly  sports  with  the  bat 
and  the  oar,  running,  jumping,  bowKng,  swimming,  rowing, 
riding,  fencing,  boxing,  and,  if  possible,  sailing,  are  all  to  be 
encouraged.  Nor  is  military  training  to  be  underrated.  The 
systematic  exercise  of  every  limb  and  every  muscle  is  desirable, 
not  under  rules  too  rigidly  laid  down  by  the  higher  authorities, 
but  under  regulations  spontaneously  developed  by  the  youth. 
It  is  generally  conceded  that  just  now,  in  England  and  this 
country,  there  is  danger  of  intemperance  in  sport.  This  may  be 
less  disastrous  than  intemperance  in  drink  or  meat;  neverthe- 
less there  is  such  a  thing  as  inebriety  in  athletic  games.  I  do  not 
refer  to  the  danger  of  broken  limbs  and  bruised  faces,  for  they 
are  rarely  enduring  injuries,  but  to  the  danger  of  unfair  rivalries, 
of  bad  associations,  of  pecuhar  temptations  in  the  anticipation 
and  enjoyment  of  victory  or  in  the  depression  of  defeat,  in  the 
neglect  of  other  and  higher  scholastic-duties,  in  the  waste  of  time 
and  money  on  costly  journeys,  perhaps  in  extravagant  hospi- 
tality. The  boys  themselves  must  be  encouraged  to  correct 
these  tendencies,  but  they  have  a  right  to  expect  that  we  older 
boys  will  remind  th  m  of  their  highest  obhgations  and  encourage 
their  fulfilment.  With  the  reasonable  control  which  players, 
teachers,  parents,  can  readily  exercise,  and  which  the  young 
ladies  and  the  newspapers  might  greatly  encourage,  the  just 
medium  can  be  secured,  and  athletics  continue  to  be  an  essential 
factor  in  the  training  of  American  boys. 

The  importance  of  mental  habits  is  sometimes  forgotten  in 
the  eagerness  to  impart  knowledge.  Perhaps  the  colleges  arc 
more  to  blame  for  this  than  the  schools ;  for  the  colleges  receive 
their  pupils  on  examination,  and  examinations  are  contrived  so 
as  to  show  sometimes  what  the  freshman  knows  or  sometimes 
what  he  does  not  know.  Usually  the  examiners  have  not  time, 
if  they  have  the  disposition,  and  if  they  have  time  and  disposition 
they  may  not  have  the  capacity,  to  put  the  candidate  to  any  other 
test  than  his  ability  to  answer  certain  questions. 

Examinations  are  a  great  stumbling-block  not  only  to  the 
pupil,  but  also  to  the  examiner,  and  I  shall  not  now  discuss  this 
vexatious  theme.  However,  this  much  may  be  said.  That 
teacher  fails  who  keeps  the  coming  examination  perpetually  in 

XXII  [  12  ] 


THE   BOY 

sight.  It  is  his  business  to  think  of  the  minds  of  his  pupils, 
individually,  to  strengthen,  prune,  stimulate,  train,  the  various 
qualities  exhibited  by  each  scholar.  He  should  indeed  impart 
knowledge,  not  forgetful  that  it  is  as  true  in  the  examination 
room  as  anywhere  else,  "if  there  be  knowledge,  it  shall  vanish 
away";  but  he  should  also  enforce  the  formation  of  habits — and 
especially  at  the  schoolboy  age — of  close  attention,  tenacious 
memory,  and  accurate  statement.  These  three  mental  virtues 
are  not  unworthy  to  be  named  after  faith,  hope,  and  charity,  the 
trinal  virtues  of  St.  Paul — attention,  memory,  truth,  and  the 
greatest  of  these  is  truth. 

The  intellectual  lessons  that  boys  receive  should  be  so  im- 
parted that  they  may  promote  the  formation  of  moral  habits. 
Accuracy,  carefulness,  truthfulness  of  statement,  fidelity, 
thoroughness,  courtesy,  self-control,  deference,  consideration, 
respect,  temperance,  these  are  virtues  that  may  readily  be  de- 
veloped while  the  boy  is  crossing  the  pons  asinorum  or  stumbhng 
over  a  sentence  of  Tacitus. 

"Refrain  to-night,"  said  Hamlet  to  the  queen,  "and  that 
shall  lend  a  kind  of  easiness  to  the  next  abstinence;  the  next 
more  easy ;  for  use  almost  can  change  the  stamp  of  nature  and 
master  the  devil  or  throw  him  out  with  wondrous  potency." 

The  idea  of  the  preparatory  school  has  probably  been  more 
completely  developed  in  England  than  in  this  country,  and  the 
names  of  Eton,  Harrow,  Rugby,  Westminster,  and  Winchester 
are  almost  as  famous  as  those  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 
Rugby  is  especially  famihar  to  us,  partly  because  of  the  remark- 
able character  of  Thomas  Arnold,  admirably  portrayed  by  Dean 
Stanley,  and  partly  because  of  the  adventures  of  Tom  Brown — 
known  to  every  schoolboy  and  almost  as  real  as  the  doctor  him- 
self. Worthy  to  be  named  with  the  story  and  the  memoir  are 
the  verses  of  Matthew  Arnold  on  Rugby  chapel.  "Through 
thee,"  the  poet  says  of  his  father, 

"I  believe 
In  the  noble  and  great  who  are  gone; 
Pure  souls,  honored  and  blest 
By  former  ages 
Yes,  I  believe  that  there  lived 
XXII  [  13  ] 


THE   BOY 

Others  like  thee  in  the  past; 
Not  like  the  men  of  the  crowd 

But  souls  tempered  with  fire, 
Fervent,  heroic,  and  good — 
Helpers  and  friends  of  mankind. '-' 

We  know  less  about  Mr.  Edward  Thring,  the  head-master  of 
Uppington  school,  who  died  some  years  ago,  but  it  is  clear  that 
he  too  was  born  to  be  a  leader  and  teacher  of  boys.  I  have  been 
acquainted  in  this  country,  intimately,  with  a  kindred  soul,  an 
English  schoolmaster,  who,  first  in  Trinity  school  of  New  York, 
then  at  Lake  Mohegan,  then  in  a  college,  and  at  length  in  a 
university,  exercised  over  all  the  youth  that  knew  him  the 
strongest  intellectual  and  moral  influence.  Long  as  they  live  his 
pupils  will  revere  Charles  d' Urban  Morris.  Such  men  are 
robust.  Their  virility  is  shown  in  bodily  exercises,  in  scholar- 
ship, in  pontics,  in  religion.  They  quit  themselves  Hke  men  and 
are  strong.  Happy  the  land  where  they  are  engaged  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  boys ! 

Characters  like  those  just  mentioned  have  been  developed  in 
this  country.  I  could  name  some  who  are  living,  beloved, 
honored,  obeyed,  and  followed.  Among  the  departed.  Doctor 
Abbot  of  Exeter  and  Doctor  Taylor  of  Andover  are  particularly 
worthy  to  be  remembered.  But  on  the  whole,  the  tendency  of 
our  times  is  not  toward  the  fostering  of  such  teachers.  Many  of 
the  brightest  Americans  are  attracted  by  business.  The  three 
professions  traditionally  called  learned,  and  the  modern  scientific 
pursuits,  enhst  great  numbers.  Of  those  who  devote  themselves 
to  teaching,  the  most  prefer  to  enter  the  service  of  the  college  or 
the  university.  Few  only,  so  far  as  my  acquaintance  goes,  seek 
permanent  careers  in  the  service  of  boys'  schools;  few  declare 
that  they  will  be  satisfied  with  the  opportunities  and  emoluments 
of  a  good  and  faithful  teacher.  Hence,  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful of  intellectual  pursuits,  one  of  the  most  useful,  one  of  the 
most  honorable,  one  of  the  most  sacred,  is  in  danger  of  falling 
into  the  hands  of  inferior  men.  The  only  remedy  that  I  can  see 
is  for  the  head-masters,  trustees,  and  parents  to  be  on  the  watch, 
and  when  a  born  teacher  appears,  engage  him,  reward  him, 
XXII  [  14  ] 


THE   BOY 

encourage  him,  retain  him.  See  that  his  path  is  free  from 
stones,  that  he  is  not  overworked  or  harassed,  and  that  he  is  kept 
contented  in  his  lot.  Let  him  be  sure  that  as  much  respect  and 
as  much  income  will  be  his  as  would  fall  to  his  fortune  were  he 
to  enter  the  pulpit  or  be  cahed  to  the  bar.  Let  it  never  be  for- 
gotten that  the  teacher's  gifts  are  as  rare  as  the  poet's.  The 
methods  of  education  can  make  scholars,  pedants,  specialists, 
and  a  very  narrow  man  may  live  in  his  den  and  benefit  the  world 
by  patient  observation  and  minute  researches.  But  no  process 
has  been  discovered  for  making  teachers.  They  are  like  gems, 
that  must  be  found,  for  they  cannot  be  produced.  I  would 
rather  place  a  schoolboy  under  one  "all-round  man,"  whose 
manners,  morals,  and  intellectual  ways  were  exemplary  and  who 
was  capable  of  teaching  him  Homer  and  Euclid,  than  under  a 
group  of  speciahsts  selected  simply  as  mathematicians,  physi- 
cists, and  linguists.  Later  on,  when  the  character  of  a  boy  is 
established,  when  his  habits  are  formed,  when  he  knows  how  to 
study,  when  he  has  learned  the  art  of  acquiring  knowledge  and 
the  graces  of  expression,  let  the  specialists  take  hold  of  him. 
Even  then  let  it  be  provided  that  the  specialists  shall  not  be  too 
narrow.  If  possible,  choose  scientific  men  from  the  school  of 
Agassiz,  Henry,  Bache,  and  Dana;  and  linguists  from  the  school 
of  Woolsey,  Felton,  Whitney,  Drisler,  and  Gildersleeve — men 
who  know  multa  et  multum. 

As  to  the  curriculum  of  a  preparatory  school,  this  is  not  the 
place  to  measure  its  limits  or  its  requisites,  as  they  are  virtually 
determined  by  the  college  authorities,  not  by  the  schoolmasters. 
If  the  colleges  say  that  they  will  not  admit  as  scholars  those  who 
fail  to  show  a  knowledge  of  certain  prescribed  studies,  the  pre- 
paratory school  must  teach  those  studies  or  must  close  its  doors; 
there  is  no  middle  course.  Boys  are  fitted  for  college  in  a  pre- 
paratory school,  or  they  are  not — that  is  the  only  question. 
Nevertheless,  I  believe  that  the  day  is  coming  when  there  will  be 
a  revision  of  our  educational  creed,  when  the  colleges  will  not 
make  their  entrance  examinations  such  rigid  tests  of  memory  as 
they  are  now,  but  will  contrive  to  make  them  tests  of  power.  Is 
a  boy  capable  of  carrying  forward  the  studies  of  the  college  ? — 
that  must  be  found  out.  His  capacity  to  retain  and  repeat  what 
XXII  [15] 


THE   BOY 

he  has  learned  is  one  sign  of  his  qualifications,  but  there  are 
many  others  which  a  nicer  analysis  may  employ.  The  quaUta- 
tive  test  is  quite  as  important  as  the  quantitative.  Not  the  size 
of  the  brain,  but  its  structure,  determines  its  worth.  The  pos- 
session of  ten  thousand  facts  may  distinguish  an  idiot,  but  an 
idiot  gives  no  proper  emphasis;  he  does  not  perceive  the  differ- 
ence between  the  trifling  and  the  fundamental.  Yet  an  ex- 
traordinar}  memory  may  also  distinguish  a  scholar.  Lord  Ma- 
caulay,  for  example,  was  heard  to  say  that  if  by  some  miracle  of 
vandahsm  all  copies  of  Paradise  Lost  and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress 
were  destroyed  he  would  undertake  to  reproduce  them  both  from 
recollection.  A  scholar  holds  his  knowledge  in  well-arranged 
groups,  under  certain  principles,  under  certain  laws ;  he  is  con- 
stantly exercising  his  judgment,  his  discrimination,  his  reason. 
He  knows  where  to  lay  the  stress;  he  does  not  confound  the 
essential  with  its  accidents. 

Whenever  the  time  comes  for  a  revision  of  the  curriculum  of 
the  preparatory  school,  three  subjects  should  receive  much  more 
attention  than  is  now  given  to  them.  The  study  of  science 
should  be  so  pursued  that  the  habit  of  close  observation  and  of 
reasoning  upon  ascertained  facts  should  at  least  be  initiated. 
Nature  should  be  approached  by  the  schoolboy  as  a  wilhng  and 
ever-present  teacher.  Her  lessons  should  be  the  delight  of 
every  adolescent.  When  we  remember  that  in  contemplating 
the  heavens,  in  watching  the  life  of  plants  and  animals,  in  the 
observation  of  the  modes  of  motion  and  in  studying  the  inorganic 
world  there  are  innumerable  and  infinitely  varied  opportunities 
to  awaken  curiosity,  to  train  the  eye  and  the  hand,  to  exercise 
the  judgment,  to  reward  investigation — how  strange  that  so 
Httle  progress  is  made  in  the  introduction  of  scientific  studies 
in  elementary  education!  Modern  languages  also,  especially 
French  and  German,  are  nowadays  indispensable  in  a  liberal 
education;  and  they  are  much  more  readily  acquired  in  child- 
hood than  in  maturity.  How  are  they  to  get  just  recognition 
in  the  preparatory  schools?  An  acquaintance  with  the  Bible 
should  also  be  required  of  every  schoolboy.  College  professors 
have  lately  been  showing  how  ignorant  the  youth  of  America  are 
of  the  history,  the  geography,  the  biography,  and  the  literature  of 
XXII  [  i6  ] 


THE   BOY 

the  sacred  books.  I  do  not  now  refer  to  its  religious  lessons,  but 
I  speak  of  the  Bible  as  a  basis  of  our  social  fabric,  as  the  em- 
bodiment of  the  most  instructive  human  experiences,  as  a  col- 
lection of  poems,  histories,  precepts,  laws,  and  examples,  price- 
less in  importance  to  the  human  race.  These  Scriptures  have 
pervaded  our  literature.  All  this  inheritance  we  possess  in  a 
version  which  is  unique.  Its  marvellous  diction,  secured  by  the 
revisions  of  many  centuries,  and  its  substantial  accuracy,  the 
care  of  many  generations  of  scholars,  are  beyond  our  praise. 
But  how  little  study  does  the  schoolboy  give  to  this  book  in 
secular  or  sacred  hours ;  how  ignorant  may  he  really  be  of  that 
which  is  supposed  to  be  his  daily  counsellor!  Science,  modern 
languages,  and  the  Bible  have  been  so  long  neglected  in  pre- 
paratory schools  that  it  is  extremely  hard  nowadays  to  find  effec- 
tive teachers  for  these  subjects.  There  is  no  consensus  as  to 
books,  no  tradition  respecting  methods.  Perhaps  we  are  wait- 
ing for  the  waters  to  be  disturbed  by  the  angel  of  deliverance,  but 
we  shall  wait  in  vain  unless  we  put  forth  efforts  of  our  own  to 
reach  the  true  remedies.  The  day  will  come  for  better  things; 
we  can  see  its  approaches. 

Meanwhile,  it  is  just  as  well  to  remember  that  there  is 
nothing  sacred  in  our  present  curriculum.  It  is  a  method  which 
generally  produces  good  results,  but  it  is  no  catholicon.  Its 
defects  are  perceived  by  this  generation,  and  the  next  will  pro- 
vide the  remedies.     Thus  slowly  move  the  wheels. 


XXII  [17] 


XXIII 


HOW  TO  THINK 

BY 

EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE 

CHAPLAIN    OF    THE    UNITED    STATED    SENATE 


/^NE  oj  the  most  difjicuU  moments  that  a  youth  jaces  in 
^^  lije  is  that  in  which,  having  graduated  jrom  some  ele- 
mentary school,  he  suddenly  finds  himselj  no  longer  under  con- 
trol. Instead  oj  having  certain  well-regulated  bits  oj  injormation 
poured  into  him,  he  is  jree  to  acquire  what  he  will,  or  to  reject 
it  all.  Thinking  is  no  longer  done  jor  him  by  learned  teachers, 
he  must  think  jor  himselj.  And  by  the  quality  oj  that  thinking 
all  his  juture  lije  must  stand  or  jail.  It  is  at  that  perilous  moment 
that  a  word  oj  guidance  may  prove  oj  ififinite  value.  It  is  then 
that  he  should  be  jamiliar  with  the  jollowing  address. 

The  Reverend  Edward  Everett  Hale,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  is  not 
only  one  oj  the  most  widely  known  oj  American  literary  masters, 
but  has  also  jor  many  years  held  official  rank  as  the  Chaplain  oj 
the  United  States  Senate.  He  may  thus  more  than  any  other 
man  be  regarded  as  the  official  speaker  jor  the  religious  jaith 
oj  our  country.  The  words  oj  counsel  which  he  ofjers,  not  only 
to  youth  but  to  older  minds  as  well,  are  here  combined  with  a  valu- 
able scientific  analysis  oj  the  processes  oj  thought. 

In  a  playful  little  poem  by  William  Barnard,  who  was 
Dean  of  Derry  a  hundred  and  nine  years  ago,  in  answer  to  a 
challenge  from  Dr  Johnson,  who  had  bidden  him  improve 
himself  after  he  was  forty-eight  years  old,  he  selects  his 
teachers.  Three  of  them  are  Sir  William  Jones,  Adam  Smith, 
Edmund  Burke,  and  the  fourth,  Beauclerk.     The  lines  are: 

"Jones,  teach  me  modesty  and  Greek; 
Smith,  how  to  think,  Burke,  how  to  speak; 
And  Beauclerk,  to  converse.  !' 
XXIII  [  I  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

The  man  who  should  have  Adam  Smith  as  a  teacher  in  the 
art  of  thinking  would  be  fortunate,  if  the  teacher  could  really 
bring  his  pupil  near  to  his  own  level.  And  in  the  midst  of  the 
modern  philosophizing,  I  will  say  to  any  quiet,  intelligent 
person,  who  does  not  dislike  common  sense,  that  he  will  find 
the  books  of  Jones  to  be  good  reading  to-day. 

Capel  Lofft  says,  in  his  curious  book  on  "Self -Formation," 
that  the  elder  DTsraeli  says  that  no  person  has  ever  written 
on  the  "Art  of  Meditation." 

I  have  not  been  able  to  find  the  statement  by  DTsraeli; 
but  Capel  Lofft  says  that  he  has  spent  much  time  in  verifying 
it,  and  he  believes  it  to  be  true.^ 

He  goes  further  and  says  that  not  one  man  in  twenty  ever 
does  think ;  by  which  he  means  that  very  few  men  think  to  any 
purpose  or  with  any  system.  I  am  afraid  that  this  statement 
is  true.  Most  of  the  people  one  meets  in  the  world  take  their 
opinions  ready-made  from  the  newspapers  or  their  neighbors 
or,  in  general,  from  the  fashion. 

There  is  indeed  a  habit,  for  which  two  causes  could  be  found, 

^  Capel  Lofft 'shook  which  I  have  cited  above  is  called  "Self -For- 
mation, by  a  Fellow  of  a  College."  It  has  been  reprinted  in  America, 
and  will  be  found  in  the  large  libraries.  It  is  a  gossiping,  entertain- 
ing book,  professing  to  describe  the  "history  of  an  individual  mind," 
and  has  a  good  many  practical  hints,  useful  to  young  students.  He 
is  always  talking  of  his  great  discovery,  which  to  most  people  seems 
almost  a  mare's  nest.  Two  pages,  one  in  the  first  volume,  one  in 
the  second,  contain  the  whole  of  it.  It  amounts  to  this, — that  in 
reading  you  should  stop  at  the  end  of  each  sentence  and  "re-flect," 
turn  back  on  the  sentence,  to  be  sure  that  you  pos.sess  its  meaning. 
What  follows  will  be,  he  says,  that  you  must  go  through  it  at  one 
breath,  or  if  it  be  an  unusually  long  one,  that  you  give  one  breath  to 
every  member  of  it.  On  this  business  of  our  breathing,  in  time,  he 
lays  great  stress,  as  a  good  teacher  of  swimming  would  bid  you  breathe 
in  proper  time  with  your  strokes.  When,  in  the  second  volume,  we 
come  to  the  great  secret  of  the  book,  it  proves  that  we  cannot  think 
unless  we  think  in  time  with  our  breathing.  "I  have  already  stated 
my  conviction  that  the  management  of  the  breath  is  very  important 
in  conversation,  in  studious  reading,  and  in  oratory.  I  am  just  as 
thoroughly  persuaded  that  this  is  true  of  meditation,  that  it  governs 
in  great  degree  the  thinking  faculty.  .  .  ."  "I  despatched  every 
sentence,"  as  he  thought  it,  "in  a  breath,  and  then,  doubling  the 
XXIII  {  2  J 


HOW  TO  THINK 

of  taking  it  for  granted  that  men  cannot  control  their  thoughts. 
It  is  said  squarely  that  the  thoughts  come  or  go  wholly  without 
the  choice  or  power  of  the  man.  But  this  is  not  the  theory 
of  the  great  men,  of  the  real  leaders.  They  bid  us  control 
our  thoughts,  that  is,  to  learn  to  think,  just  as  we  control  any 
other  appetites.  Paul  tells  us  what  we  are  to  think  of,*  and 
he  goes  on  to  the  other  matter,  which  is  more  dangerous,  and 
tells  us  what  we  are  not  to  think  of.  There  are  things  which 
are  not  even  to  be  spoken  of,  and  with  an  allowable  paradox, 
Paul  tells  what  they  are.  It  is  only  writers  of  a  lower  grade 
who  seem  to  take  for  granted  that  you  must  let  thoughts  go 
or  come  at  their  reckless  pleasure  or  by  the  mere  chance  of 
what  may  be  the  condition  of  the  circulation  of  blood  upon 
the  brain.  Such  writers,  if  they  were  pressed,  would  have 
to  say  that  you  are  not  to  undertake  any  control  of  bodily 
appetites,  any  more  than  you  undertake  the  control  of  mental 
processes. 

But  the  truth  is  that  Man  is  master  of  mind,  and  master 
of  body,  if  he  will.  This  is  the  privilege  of  a  child  of  God,  and 
a  true  man  asserts  his  empire  and  uses  it.  I  do  not  say  he 
can  begin  all  of  a  sudden  in  such  control,  if  he  had  never  used 
it  before.  But  he  can  learn  how  to  gain  such  control.  He 
can  have  more  to-day  than  he  had  last  Tuesday,  and  he  can 

blow, — a  second  idea  having  flowed  into  the  interval  of  vacuity, — I 
applied  myself  to  it  in  the  same  way,  and  so  proceeded  through  the 
series." 

It  is  evident  that'Lofft  had  never  read  Swedenborg.  If  he  had, 
he  would  have  cited  the  Arcana  Celestia.  "The  reason,"  says  Swe- 
denborg, "why  life  is  described  in  Genesis  ii.  7,  by  breathing  and 
breath  is  because  the  men  of  the  most  ancient  church  perceived  states, 
of  law  and  of  faith  by  states  of  respiration.  .  .  .  Concerning  this 
respiration  nothing  can  yet  be  said,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  subject  at 
this  day  altogether  unknown;  nevertheless,  the  most  ancient  people 
(those  before  the  flood)  had  a  perfect  knowledge  of  it";  and  Swe- 
denborg refers  to  the  same  subject  in  page  i,  119,  in  the  tenth  book, 
of  the  Arcana.  I  think  that  Swedenborg  was  here  referring,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  to  Abraham  Tucker  (Ned  Search) 
where  he  describes  the  method  of  intercommunication  of  souls  in 
their  "spiritual  bodies." 

^Ephesians  v.  3-12- 

xxin  [  3  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

have  more  next  Tuesday  than  he  has  to-day.  This  is  what  is 
meant  by  learning  to  think.  Thus  a  man  may  train  his  memoiy 
to  do  better  work  for  him  this  year  than  it  did  last  year.  True, 
when  the  body  begins  to  fail,  the  memory  may  begin  to  fail 
in  its  mechanical  processes,  but  none  the  less  shall  that  man 
find  that  the  eternal  realities  of  past  life  are  his.  Thus  it  will 
happen  that  a  man  tells  you  that  he  cannot  remember,  when 
he  has  never  taught  himself  to  perceive,  or  to  observe. 

Mr.  Ruskin  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  all  which  we  call 
genius  for  fine  art  is  simply  an  admirable  memory.  He 
constantly  recurs  to  this.  Claude  Lorraine  and  Turner  paint 
the  sky  well;  for  they  well  remember  what  they  have  seen.  It 
seems  certain  that  the  faculties  even  of  the  observation  of 
color  may  be  improved  by  exercise.  Any  foreman  in  a  dry- 
goods  shop  will  tell  us  how  fast  the  boys  improve  in  their  study 
of  color;  and  it  is  well  known  to  oculists  that  women,  because 
they  have  been  trained  for  generations  in  matching  colors, 
have  become  more  precise  in  this  business  than  men  are.  It 
occurs  to  me,  as  I  write,  that  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  suc- 
cessful colorists  I  know  among  American  artists  began  life  in 
a  dry-goods  shop.  What  drudgery  he  thought  it  then!  And 
has  he  perhaps  lived  to  think  that  drudgery  a  blessing  ?  ^ 

We  begin  then,  as  we  always  begin,  by  demanding  deter- 
mination ;  the  will  must  act,  and  act  imperiously.  '*!  will 
think  on  this  subject."  This  implies  what  the  writers  call 
concentration;  just  as  we  found  that  in  putting  himself  to  sleep 
a  man  must  make  sleep  his  whole  business, — first,  second, 
and  last,  he  must  devote  himself  to  sleep, — so  now  he  must 
devote  himself  to  thinking  on  this  one  subject  and  on  no  other. 
There  is  a  great  advantage  in  the  training  of  our  public  schools. 
Boys  and  girls  learn  to  study  without  attending  to  the  work 
of  the  school- room;  or  if  they  do  not  they  throw  away  a  great 
opportunity.  You  ought  to  be  able  early  in  life  so  to  concentrate 
thought  that  in  a  railway  carriage  you  can  close  your  eyes, 
take  up  a  subject  of  thought,  and  hold  to  it  for  a  reasonable 
time,  perhaps  till  you  have  done  with  it.  At  all  events  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  lay  by  the  subject  for  future  reference,  ticketed, 

1  The  reference  is  to  Mr.  Bradford,  the  painter  of  Arctic  pictures. 
XXin  [  4  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

so  that  you  may  know  how  far  you  have  advanced  with  it  and 
where  you  are  to  begin  another  time. 

You  determine,  for  instance,  to  think  about  a  protective 
tariff.  How  much  do  I  know  of  it  and  where  am  I  ignorant? 
What  are  the  foundations  of  my  knowledge  ?  How  sure  are  they, 
and  where  can  I  improve  on  them?  Now  what  follows  clearly 
and  surely  on  the  premises?  What  is  more  doubtful,  and 
how  can  I  solve  such  doubt  ? 

I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  well  to  hold  on  long  at  a  time 
upon  the  same  topic.  I  think  it  is  better  to  take  a  subject  to 
a  certain  point,  then  to  ticket  it,  as  I  say,  and  lay  it  by  pre- 
pared to  take  it  up  again.  But  when  you  take  it  up  again 
do  not  begin  at  the  old  beginning  and  go  over  the  old  ground. 
Take  what  you  have  done  for  granted,  and  from  the  point 
where  you  are  go  forward. 

In  this  matter,  as  in  all  other  matters  where  will  is  involved, 
there  comes  in  the  necessity  of  energy.  Capel  Lofft,  if  you  will 
look  up  his  book,  has  a  great  deal  to  say  about  this,  and  goes 
back  to  the  derivations  of  the  Greek  words.  But  it  ought  to 
be  enough  to  say  that  you  cannot  think  well  unless  you  think 
with  all  your  might.  You  cannot  think  lazily.  You  cannot 
think  if  you  are  half-hearted  about  it.  You  must  somehow 
take  interest  enough  in  your  work  to  follow  it  at  the  moment 
as  if  it  were  the  only  thing.  Unless  you  work  with  your  whole 
heart,  the  work  cannot  be  wholly  done. 

Without  going  further  into  detail,  I  must  say  something 
as  to  the  necessity  of  the  business  in  hand,  and  I  will  take 
the  three  departments  of  mental  activity  which  we  call  memory, 
imagination,  and  argument,  or  reasoning.  Although  as  old  age 
comes  on  the  mechanical  processes  of  memory  may  give  way, 
a  man  who  has  trained  his  memory  will  feel  himself  sure  all  the 
same  of  the  external  realities  of  his  life,  though  he  may  not  be 
able  to  recall  the  letters  of  their  names.  So  a  man  may  train 
and  enlarge  his  powers  of  imagination.  Nay,  he  must,  if  he 
is  to  make  any  considerable  advance  in  the  larger  life.  Full 
one  half  of  men's  failures  are  due  to  their  lack  of  imagination, 
or  to  their  neglect  to  use  imagination  at  the  right  time  and 
in  the  right  way.  Once  more,  every  man  who  is  rightly  and 
xxin  [  5  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

wisely  to  do  his  duty  in  the  world  among  his  fellows  must  train 
his  power  of  argument.  He  must  not  stand  by,  helpless,  when 
some  wordy  fool  on  a  platform  makes  the  worse  appear  the  bet- 
ter reason.  Memory,  imagination,  reasoning,  then,  are  for  us 
three  good  examples  of  the  great  necessity  in  which  we  must 
exercise  our  power.  Of  these  three  duties  I  will  speak  a  little 
more  in  detail,  not  dwelling  on  what  a  man  may  do  in  training 
his  perceptions,  his  power  of  concentration,  his  power  of  state- 
ment or  of  conversation,  and  a  hundred  other  faculties  which 
come  under  the  general  statement  that  the  man  is  to  be  master 
of  the  mind. 

First,  then,  as  to  memory.^  Had  one  no  other  reason 
for  training  memory  carefully,  and  keeping  it  in  hand,  here  is 
the  supreme  reason:  that  one  must  keep  ready  at  every  in- 
stant of  trial  the  determinations  made  in  the  moments  of 're- 
flection. As  I  am  always  saying,  Wordsworth  defines  the 
hero  as  he 

"  Who  in  the  heat  of  conflict  keeps  the  Law 
In  calmness  made, — and  sees  what  he  foresaw." 
The  little  child  untrained  comes  to  his  mother  in  grief 
because  he  has  done  wrong,  and  makes,  probably,  the  true 
excuse,  as  he  sobs  out  that  he  did  not  remember.  The  trained 
man,  trampling  temptation  under  foot,  docs  remember.  He 
remembers  his  resolution,  and  this  re-enforces  will.  There 
is  an  interesting  thought  in  the  mere  etymology  of  our  word 
** conscience."  ''Conscience"  is  a  Latin  word,  which  means 
the  knowledge  all  at  once  of  all  the  elements  involved.  If  my 
conscience  is  quick  and  strong,  I  know  at  once,  and  that  once 
is  now,  all  that  I  can  know  of  this  temptation.  I  know  to  what 
ruin  it  brings  me ;  I  know  by  what  methods  I  can  quench  its 
fire ;  I  know  how  to  put  my  foot  upon  its  head  and  the  point  of 
my  sword  at  its  throat.     I  know  all  this  now. 

1 1  have  not  dared  go  into  the  systems  of  what  is  called  artificial 
memory.  The  best  by  far,  I  think,  is  in  Gouraud's  book,  published 
with  a  good  deal  of  fuss  and  feathers  in  New  York  over  forty  years 
ago.  Gouraud  remembered  everything  so  perfectly  that  we  used 
to  call  him  "the  Wandering  Jew." 

All  these  systems  depend  on  using  the  stronger  side  of  memory, 
whatever  it  is,  to  re-enforce  the  weaker. 

XXIII  [  6  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

^^Conscire^'  is  the  Latin  verb;  to  know  at  once  the  per- 
ceptions of  the  outward  senses,  the  lessons  of  old  experience, 
and  the  present  verdict  of  the  man  within. 

Charlotte  Bronte  refers  to  this  necessity  in  that  central 
passage,  where  she  describes  her  heroine's  conquest  of  im- 
mediate temptation. 

"Laws  and  principles  are  not  for  the  times  when  there  is 
no  temptation;  they  arc  for  such  moments  as  this,  when  body 
and  soul  rise  in  mutiny  against  their  rigor.  Stringent  are 
they,  inviolate  they  shall  be.  If,  at  my  individual  convenience 
I  might  break  them,  what  would  be  their  worth  ?  They  have 
a  worth — so  I  have  always  believed;  and  if  I  cannot  believe 
it  now,  it  is  because  I  am  insane — quite  insane;  with  my 
veins  running  fire,  and  my  heart  beating  faster  than  I  can  count 
its  throbs.  Conscience  and  reason  are  turned  traitors  against 
me,  and  are  charging  me  with  crime.  They  speak  as  loud 
as  feeling  in  its  clamors.  Preconceived  opinions,  foregone 
determinations  are  all  I  have  at  this  hour  to  stand  by." 

But  we  need  not  go  to  poetry  or  fiction  for  our  examples. 
The  little  child  of  whom  I  spoke  comes  to  his  mother,  crying, 
and  can  only  offer  the  apology  that  "he  did  not  remember" 
that  she  had  bidden  him  keep  away  from  the  stove.  If  his 
hand  be  not  very  badly  burnt,  she  will  not  be  very  sorry;  be- 
cause she  now  knows  that  he  will  remember  better  another 
time.  Indeed,  what  Mr.  Ruskin  says  of  fine  art,  we  may  say 
of  life.  That  all  the  training  by  which  God  is  gradually  chang- 
ing us  from  babies  into  archangels  is  but  so  much  accumula- 
tion by  memory,  more  or  less  completely  educated. 

But  this  training  of  memory  and  this  knowledge  at  one  and 
the  same  time  of  the  cause  and  consequence  of  the  present 
temptation  involve  the  right  use  of  the  imagination.  The  lar- 
ger Hfe,  indeed,  which  is  the  purpose  and  object  for  which 
we  live  every  day,  requires  me  to  command  and  control  my 
imagination,  to  use  it  on  the  right  errands,  and  to  refuse  it  when 
it  would  fain  travel  the  wrong  way.  The  world  in  which  I  live 
may  be  the  cell  of  a  wretched  prison,  cabined  and  confined 
as  was  the  unfortunate  dauphin,  the  son  of  Louis  XVL,  or  as 
Kaspar  Hauser  was  said  to  be,  so  that  his  prison  walls  touched 
XXIII  [  7  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

him  above,  below,  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  behind 
and  before. 

One  is  really  almost  as  badly  off  as  he  is  when  he  is  in  a 
crowded  railway  car  after  darkness  has  come  on.  I  cannot 
talk  to  my  next  neighbor  because  he  is  a  Moqui  Indian,  I  can 
see  nothing  but  the  shadows  from  the  smoking  lamp,  I  can  hear 
nothing  but  the  clatter  of  the  rail.  This  is  hard  circumstance. 
But  what  is  circumstance  to  a  trained  child  of  God  living 
by  the  divine  order  ?  I  ought  to  be  able  to  bid  Shakespeare 
^meet  with  Milton  there.  I  may  call  Charles  Dickens  and  Walter 
Scott  into  the  interview.  I  may  select  the  subject  on  which 
they  shall  talk,  I  may  bid  them  say  their  say,  and  I  may  send 
them  on  their  way.  I  may  summon  here  all  whom  I  have  loved 
most  in  literature,  be  they  people  who  have  lived  and  breathed, 
or  be  they  people  who  never  had  form  or  weight  or  visible 
body:  such  people  as  Jane  Eyre  or  Di  Vernon  or  RosaHnd. 
I  have  them  and  they  cannot  leave  me.  The  dead  nausea 
of  the  disgusting  car  is  forgotten,  and  in  that  prison  cell  I 
have  enlarged  my  life  to  journey  as  I  will. 

I  recall  that  Mme.  de  Genlis,  in  her  gossiping  and  enter- 
taining memoirs,  goes  at  length  into  her  habit  of  creating 
for  herself  an  imaginary  society.  The  passage  is  worth  the 
search  of  enterprising  readers,  though  I  am  afraid  the  book  has 
neither  index  nor  contents.* 

Now  for  the  same  reason  and  for  the  larger  life  which  all  along 
we  are  seeking,  you  must  train  the  faculty  of  reasoning,  that 
you  may  have  an  opinion,  and  that  opinion  your  own.  To  look 
on  both  sides  and  choose  the  better  side,  to  dissect  the  rhetoric 
of  a  demagogue,  to  strip  off  his  coat  of  many  colors,  and  to  show 
him  for  what  he  is,  to  decide  between  rival  plans  and  to  deter- 
mine one's  aim,  for  one's  own  purposes,  by  one's  own  abilities, 
— all  this  is  the  duty  of  a  man.  Without  this  he  forfeits  a  man's 
privilege.  He  is  a  chip  on  the  current,  whirled  down  in  this 
flood,  whirled  up  in  that  eddy,  or  left  stagnant  in  some  standing 
pool.     How  often,  alas,  one  meets  a  man  who  never  knew  the 

^  All  that  is  said  on  the  cultivation  of  the  imagination  shows  the 
importance  of  giving  to  children  enough  fairy-tales  and  enough 
poetry  with  which  to  amuse  themselves. 

XXIII  [  8  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

luxury  of  an  opinion.  He  has  taken  his  morning  impression 
from  one  newspaper,  his  evening  impression  from  another. 
Meanwhile  he  has  been  the  tool  and  the  fool  of  every  person  who 
chose  to  use  him,  or  to  tell  him  what  to  think  and  what  to  say. 
To  keep  clear  of  that  vacancy  of  life,  a  true  man  cares  diligently, 
lovingly,  for  the  weapons  which  have  been  given  him,  weapons 
of  defence — yes,  and  sometimes  weapons  of  attack,  if  need 
may  be.  He  learns  how  to  reason,  how  to  search  for  truth, 
how  to  question  nature,  how  to  interpret  her  answers.  He  learns 
how  to  arrange  in  right  order  such  eternal  truths  and  such 
visible  facts  as  relate  to  the  matter  he  has  in  hand.  He  clears 
and  enlarges  his  power  of  reasoning. 

The  power  of  induction  and  deduction  man  has  because 
he  is  a  child  of  God.  It  is  the  faculty  which  distinguishes  him 
from  the  brutes.  A  body  of  wolves  in  the  Pyrenees  may  gather 
round  the  fire  which  a  peasant  has  left,  and  will  enjoy  the  warmth 
of  the  embers.  A  group  of  chattering  monkeys  on  the  rock 
of  Gibraltar  might  gather  so  round  the  watchfire  which  an  Eng- 
lish sentinel  had  left  burning.  They  can  enjoy  the  heat;  but 
they  cannot  renew  the  fire.  They  cannot  work  out  the  deduction 
which  is  necessary  before  one  kicks  back  upon  the  glaring 
embers  the  black  brand  which  has  rolled  away.  Were  it  to 
save  their  lives,  they  must  freeze  before  one  of  them  can  deduce 
from  what  he  sees  the  law  or  the  truth  as  to  what  he  must  do. 
Here  is  it  that  man  differs  from  the  brute.  He  can  learn.  He 
can  follow  a  deduction.  He  can  argue.  He  can  rise,  step  by 
step,  to  higher  life. 

This  he  does  when  he  takes  the  control  of  thought.  He  rises 
to  a  higher  plane  and  lives  in  a  larger  life.  * 

There  is  no  neater  or  better  illustration  of  the  way  in  which 
a  wise  teacher  draws  out  the  thinking  faculty  of  a  child  than 
that  which  Warren  Colburn  borrowed,  from  Miss  Edgeworth, 


'  All  that  is  said  on  the  culture  of  the  thinking  faculty  is  to  be  re- 
membered, seriously,  by  teachers  who  are  in  any  danger  of  using 
text-books  too  much.  The  text-book,  as  an  authority,  injures  the 
child's  power  to  think.  Make  him  work  out  the  rule  for  himself, — 
if  you  can.  That  means,  probably,  if  you  know  how  to  think  your- 
self. 

XXIII  [  9  ] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

I  believe,  to  place  in  the  beginning  of  that  matchless  oral  arith- 
metic which  still  holds  its  place  in  many  well-regulated  schools. 
The  advantage  which  the  thinking  faculty  gains  from  good 
training  in  mathematics  cannot  be  overstated.  A  master 
in  that  business  ^  used  to  say  to  me  that,  when  you  meet  a  man 
who  says  that  he  has  no  mathematical  faculty,  he  is  simply 
a  man  who  was  not  well  taught  his  ''vulgar  fractions"  or  his 
"rule  of  three"  in  childhood.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
this  is  true.  A  thousand  writers  have  been  eager  to  prove  that 
good  grammatical  work  does  the  same  thing — and  I  believe 
that  they  are  right.  It  is  just  the  same  mental  process  by  which 
I  build  up  a  Latin  verb,  pronoun,  and  noun,  so  that  they  shall 
express  the  fact  that  "  George  Washington  had  taken  off  his  own 
hat  before  he  met  Henry  Knox,"  as  the  process  by  which  I 
work  out  the  truth  that  seventy-two  apples  costing  nine  cents 
a  dozen  may  be  exchanged  for  two  pecks  of  walnuts  costing 
three  cents  and  three-eighths  a  quart.  W^hy  the  parallel  of  the 
two  studies  of  language  and  mathematics  as  mental  gymnastics 
should  have  been  so  much  belabored  as  it  has  been,  I  have 
never  known. 

This  is  certain,  that  no  one  learns  to  think  without  thinking. 
I  believe  we  may  say  more.  I  believe  he  must  make  a  business 
of  thinking.  He  must  take  hold  of  the  control  of  his  thought 
intentionally,  resolutely,  and  energetically.  If  he  does  this  I 
believe  he  will  think  more  clearly,  and  with  better  results 
next  year  than  he  does  to-day. 

*  Nathan  Hale,  Jr. 


XXIII  [lo] 


XXIV 


THE  GIRL 

"THE  THING  TO  DO" 

feY 

WHITELAW  REID 

UNITED    STATES    AMBASSADOR    TO     ENGLAND 


/IS  girl  and  hoy  approach  maturity  their  paths  diverge. 
"^  They  can  no  longer  he  classed  under  a  common  name  as 
''children''  and  dealt  with  binder  similar  rules.  As  man  and 
woman  they  hecome  heings  oj  differing  aims,  differing  thoughts, 
and  differing  capacities.  Hence  come  two  sets  of  prohlems 
instead  oj  one,  and  the  complexity  oj  modern  lije  is  douhled, 
the  difficulty  oj  grasping  at  its  meaning  and  its  outcome  is  im- 
measurahly  increased.  To  talk  ahout  the  juture  oj  ''the  race'' 
as  a  whole,  as  though  men  and  women  were  a  unit  striving  tow- 
ard a  common  goal,  is  to  ignore  an  entire  group  oj  antagonisms 
as  ohvious  as  lije  itselj. 

The  more  direct  prohlems  involved  in  the  question  oj  sex 
we  have  already  treated;  hut  now,  looking  along  the  line  oj 
youthjul  education,  we  reach  the  moment  when  it  is  finished — 
so  jar  as  schools  can  finish  education — and  the  girl,  the  young 
woman  approaching  maturity,  looks  out  upon  a  wider  lije.  She 
asks  herselj,  demands  oj  her  own  intelligent  and  well-developed 
mind,  the  question,  "  What  next ?"  "To  what  course  oj  drijting 
or  oj  effort  shall  I  seriously  devote  myseij  until  death  ends  the 
story?" 

It  is  some  sort  oj  answer  to  this  momentous  question  that  Mr. 
Reid  here  offers.  As  one  who  has  long  ranked  among  the  com- 
manding journalists  oj  our  land,  as  a  leader  in  educational 
advancement,  and  as  a  statesman  known  to  all  Europe  as  well 
as  to  his  home,  Mr.  Reid  has  certainly  earned  the  right  to  speak 
and  to  he  heard  with  earnest  thought.  The  present  address, 
XXIV  [  I  ] 


THE  GIRL 

delivered  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  0}  Vassar  College 
at  the  time  oj  the  young  ladies^  graduation,  is  here  published 
by  his  permission  and  with  his  approval. 

The  brilliant  President  of  a  great  California  university 
has  defined  Wisdom  as  "Knowing  What  to  do  Next,"  and 
Virtue  as  ''Doing  it."  Responding  to  the  call  with  which 
the  young  ladies  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  have  honored  me, 
I  shall  try  to  merit  your  attention  by  speaking  to  you  for  a  little 
of  "The  Thing  to  Do."  In  proportion  then  to  any  success 
in  saying  the  right  word  to  you  on  this  subject,  that  word  must 
come,  however  unworthy  the  voice  through  which  it  speaks,  as 
the  counsel  of  Wisdom  and  the  command  of  Virtue. 

The  universal  inquiry  in  the  graduating  class  on  Commence- 
ment Day  is,  What  next  ?  The  mere  man  has  no  monopoly  of 
it.  The  girl  graduate,  too,  is  absorbed  in  questions  about 
what  shall  she  do.  Misty  visions  float  before  her  eyes.  Now 
as  always  the  vague  outlines  are  apt  to  shape  themselves  to 
the  first  gaze,  alike  of  the  simplest  and  of  the  wisest,  into  happy 
homes  and  home  responsibilities.  But  in  these  days  of  broader 
horizons,  many  another  purpose  in  life  comes  in  to  enlarge 
or  to  confuse  the  picture.  Whether  with  the  home  or  without 
a  home,  comes  the  thought  of  a  career  worthy  of  the  capacities 
here  discovered,  the  training  here  given;  perhaps  a  literary, 
or  artistic,  or  scientific  career,  perhaps  educational  or  profes- 
sional, perhaps  reformatory,  perhaps  social;  but  always  a 
career,  always  the  desire  for  a  field  in  which  to  exercise  the 
proper  power  of  the  trained  abilities  and  enjoy  their  rightful 
influence,  always  the  resolve  to  do  something.  Let  us  first 
see  now  if  there  is  not  one  especial  thing  which,  in  any  career 
and  whatever  else  may  or  may  not  be  done,  it  is  the  duty  of 
every  girl  graduate  to  attempt,  in  her  respective  sphere  and 
to  the  full  measure  of  her  capacity. 

It  was  sixty -five  years  ago  that  a  singularly  acute  French 

observer  pronounced  the  legal  profession  the  most  conservative 

element  in  this  country  and  the  greatest  safeguard  against  the 

excesses,  as  he  called  them,  of  democracy.     But  the  interven- 

XXIV  [  2  ] 


THE  GIRL 

ing  two-thirds  of  a  century  have  shown  many  changes.  We 
have  seen  no  pohtical  craze,  from  secession  to  the  payment  of 
national  debts  in  fiat  money  or  in  silver,  no  popular  delusion, 
from  spirit  portraits  to  communism  or  to  the  right  of  some 
laborers  to  prohibit  free  labor,  that  has  not  been  led  by  lawyers ; 
and  we  have  seen  no  depth  of  degradation  to  which,  in  pursuit 
of  a  fee,  some  members  of  this  profession  have  not  descended, 
and  that,  too  often,  without  incurring  the  active  repudiation 
of  the  majority. 

Perhaps  the  dangerous  tendencies  in  America  of  which  De 
Tocqucville  spoke  arc  at  the  present  time  '^  the  excesses  of  democ- 
racy"; though,  perhaps  again,  they  may  be  merely  the  general 
tendencies  of  the  age,  exhibited  here  a  little  earlier,  or  more 
freely,  because  of  the  liberty  of  faction  democracy  affords.  At 
any  rate,  there  has  never  been  a  day  in  the  history  of  the  coun- 
try when  such  a  restraining  influence  as  he  attributed  to  the 
lawyers  was  so  much  needed  as  at  present.  Meanwhile  the 
legal  profession,  through  a  not  inconsiderable  number  of  its 
members,  has  developed  into  one  of  the  active  means,  not  for 
restraining,  but  for  actually  furthering  the  excesses,  and,  as  a 
whole,  it  certainly  exerts  now  a  less  conservative  and  restrain- 
ing influence  than  was  gratefully  recognized  in  our  earlier 
history. 

When  John  Stuart  Mill  taught,  in  a  litde  book  less  talked 
about  now  than  his  later  publications,  that  women  made  con- 
tributions to  the  sum  of  human  knowledge  and  consequent 
progress  as  important  as  those  coming  from  men,  though  differ- 
ent in  kind,  being  apt  to  be  intuitional  rather  than  logical,  he 
may  have  furnished  a  hint  as  to  the  real  safeguard  against  so- 
cial disorders  that  in  his  time  were  hardly  known.  If  the 
conservative  influence  which  is  hereafter  to  protect  us  from  the 
excesses  either  of  democracy  or  of  the  spirit  of  the  age  is  no 
longer  to  be  surely  and  always  found  in  the  old  quarter,  it  may 
still  prove  that  we  can  turn  for  it  to  a  class  with  higher  in- 
spirations and  keener  moral  perceptions,  to  a  class  with  deeper 
interest  in  the  outcome,  and  capable  of  unquestionably  greater 
influence,  whenever  aroused  to  exercise  it.  It  may  prove,  in 
fact,  that  we  can  look  to  the  educated  women  of  the  country 
XXIV  [  3  ] 


THE  GIRL 

rather  than  to  its  lawyers  for  the  true  conservatism  in  prin- 
ciple, in  methods,  and  in  constant  application  that  is  to  save  us 
from  many  of  the  most  dangerous  tendencies  of  the  time. 
Hope,  then,  will  not  be  lost  for  the  future  of  our  triumphant 
democracy  till  their  characteristic  excellences  are  corrupted  or 
destroyed. 

The  reasons  for  such  an  expectation  lie  in  human  nature 
itself,  and  in  that  female  ability  which  Mr.  Mill  demonstrated 
for  such  contributions  to  human  knowledge  and  progress.  All 
the  instincts  of  the  educated  woman  are  toward  good  order 
and  good  morals  and  good  life;  all  her  interests  are  against 
rash  experiments  and  revolutionary  changes ;  the  character  alike 
of  her  judgment,  her  feelings,  and  her  needs  gives  promise  of 
sound  and  sane  views  of  life  and  of  human  conduct.  Both 
by  inherent  qualities  and  by  acquired  relations  the  rightly 
educated  woman  is  a  natural  and  necessary  conservative.  With 
her  mental  alertness  and  vivid  perceptions  she  can  never  be  a 
drag  upon  the  machinery  of  human  progress,  but,  thanks  to 
her  special  aptitudes,  she  may  always  be  its  moderator  and 
its  governor. 

This  at  least  is  clear,  that  the  twentieth-century  woman  has 
greater  opportunities  than  were  ever  given  to  a  human  creature 
of  her  kind  before,  in  the  eighty  centuries  of  the  world's  history 
of  which  we  are  supposed  to  have  some  records ;  that  she  has 
been  better  prepared  to  improve  them,  and  that  she  is  more 
peremptorily  called  to  the  work — this  twentieth-century  woman, 
to  whom  have  been  given  the  keys  of  knowledge  which  are 
becoming  almost  the  keys  of  life  and  death.  The  ferment  and 
amazing  discovery  and  development  of  the  nineteenth  century 
did  not  end  when  it  closed ;  they  could  be  ^but  the  hot-bed 
for  starting  the  prodigious,  myriad -formed,  almost  infinite 
growths  to  be  confidently  expected  in  the  twentieth.  If,  in  the 
midst  of  these  teeming  and  steaming  activities,  woman  now 
possesses  the  real  power  which  Mr.  Mill  attributed  to  her,  then 
the  imperative  duty  which  her  superior  moral  elevation,  her 
nature,  and  her  surroundings  impose,  for  the  whole  term  of  her 
existence  and  throughout  the  whole  course  of  our  bewildering 
progress,  is  to  furnish  this  conservative  force  in  American  life 
XXIV  [  4  ] 


THE  GIRL 

which  two-thirds  of  a  century  ago  De  Tocqueville  thought 
already  necessary.  Her  wisdom  will  point  it  out  as  a  thing  to 
do  next,  her  virtue  will  shine  in  doing  it.  Thus  the  subject 
to  which  I  have  ventured  to  invite  your  attention,  ''The  Thing 
to  Do,"  arises  before  you,  attends  your  incoming  and  your 
outgoing,  and  henceforth  forever  entreats  and  commands 
you. 

Of  specific  excesses  toward  which  our  democratic  institu- 
tions seem  to  be  tending  perhaps  we  do  not  need  to  speak 
in  any  great  detail.  It  may  be  enough  to  recognize  that  the 
American  who  colonized  the  Atlantic  coast  and  the  great  Middle 
West,  who  framed  the  Constitution,  started  the  Government, 
developed  the  country  under  it,  and  fought  a  gigantic  Civil 
War  to  preserve  it,  is  not  the  American  who  leads  the  popular 
movements  of  to-day.  The  type  is  changing;  the  beliefs  are 
changing,  and  the  aims. 

He  is  neither  Puritan  any  longer,  nor  Cavalier.  He  may 
outwardly  deny  the  decay  of  faith,  but  he  inwardly  feels  it. 
Nothing  is  more  noticeable  at  the  great  centres  of  population 
and  of  national  activity,  or  in  any  large  section  of  what  calls 
itself,  and  is  often  called,  our  best  society,  than  this  disap- 
pearance of  the  old  foundation  of  character  and  action;  this 
loss  of  profound,  enduring,  restful  faith  in  anything.  It  is  a 
laissez-aller  age;  an  age  of  loosening  anchors  and  drifting 
with  the  tide;  of  taking  things  as  they  are,  with  cordial  readi- 
ness to  take  them  hereafter  as  they  come;  of  an  easy  indiffer- 
ence, whose  universal  attitude  toward  each  startling  departure 
from  old  standards  is  "What  does  it  matter,  anyway?" — an 
age,  in  short,  marked  by  a  refined,  "up-to-date"  adaptation 
of  the  old  Epicurean  idea  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  world 
to  do  but  to  eat  and  drink  and  make  merry,  for  to-morrow  we 
die.  As  Omar,  prime  favorite  of  the  flower  of  this  new  school, 
has  sung: 

What  boots  it  to  repeat 
How  time  is  slipping  underneath  our  feet; 
Unborn  Tomorrow,  and  dead  Yesterday, 
Why  fret  about  them  if  To-day  be  sweet! 

XXIV  [  5  ] 


THE  GIRL 

The  loss  of  faith  brings  us  by  a  short  cut  straight  to  the  loss 
of  purpose  in  life — of  any  purpose  at  least  beyond  purely  mate- 
rial ones.  To  those  who  need  money,  the  duty  of  getting  it 
first,  and  above  anything  else,  becomes  the  gospel  of  life.  To 
those  who  feel  the  need  of  position,  whether  in  society,  business, 
or  elsewhere,  their  gospel  drives  them  to  all  means  within  the 
law  to  attain  them.  To  those  who  have  both  money  and 
position  comes  the  only  remaining  purpose  in  life,  that  of  using 
them  for  an  existence  of  amusement  and  enjoyment.  Is  it 
too  much  to  say  that  never  before  in  our  history  have  such  as- 
pirations so  completely  dominated  and  limited  such  large 
classes  ? 

But  this  craze  for  mere  amusement  and  enjoyment,  like 
other  perverted  appetites,  grows  by  what  it  feeds  on.  The 
amusement  soon  becomes  wearisome,  the  enjoyment  soon  palls 
unless  constantly  more  and  more  spectacular  and  bizarre. 
Perpetual  change  and  constantly  increasing  variety  of  extremes 
seem  to  be  the  ever  rising  price  of  keeping  amused.  One  never 
is  for  long  where  one  wants  to  be,  or  doing  what  one  desires; 
there  must  be  incessantly  a  rushing  to  and  fro,  and  a  change 
of  pursuit,  all  under  the  glare  of  electric  lights  and  the  blare 
of  brass  bands.  If  in  the  country,  one  must  hasten  to  the  city 
where  something  is  going  on;  if  in  the  city,  one  must  fly  to 
the  country  where  the  crowd  is  not  so  mixed,  and  where  pleasan- 
ter  house-parties  can  be  gathered;  if  in  one's  own  land,  one 
longs  for  the  boulevards  or  the  Alps;  if  abroad,  one  is  eager 
to  try  the  new  steamer  back;  if  at  the  seashore,  one  wants 
suddenly  to  know  what  the  mountains  are  like,  and  can  only 
find  amusement  in  going  to  see  when  clothed  in  leather  jackets, 
protected  by  masks  and  goggles,  and  powdered  with  dirt, 
rushing  through  the  dusty  air  on  the  highways  at  forty  or 
fifty  miles  an  hour  in  a  Red  Devil,  and  leaving  the  luckless 
rustics  in  the  way  to  go  to  a  fiend  of  any  color  they  like. 

Even  then  this  vehement  vacuity  is  not  amusing  unless  it  is 

talked  about.     One  must  be  forever  before  the  footlights  and,  if 

possible,  in  the  centre  of  the  stage.     Privacy  is  deadly  dulness. 

Not  to  have  your  name  every  other  day  in  the  newspapers, 

XXIV  [  6  ] 


THE  GIRL 

and  especially  in  the  most  hopelessly  vulgar  and  inane  of  the 
newspaper  columns,  the  so-called  social  ones,  is  to  be  out  of 
the  world,  to  be  bored  to  death.  Not  to  see  every  intimate 
fact  about  yourself  or  your  friends  thrust  naked  and  shame- 
less under  the  public  eye  is  to  feel  that  you  are  dropping  out  of 
the  swim.  If  there  is  a  steamer  that  has  raced  across  the 
Atlantic  in  fifteen  minutes  less  than  any  other,  you  suddenly 
realize  that  nothing  is  going  on  here,  and  you  must  immedi- 
ately cross  back  on  that  steamer.  If  there  is  a  White  Ghost 
that  has  flitted  over  crowded  country  roads  half  a  mile  an  hour 
faster  than  the  last  Red  Devil,  and  has  caused  more  runaways 
and  killed  one  or  two  more  people,  you  will  be  leading  a  very 
dull  life  till  you  have  gone  faster  in  that  same,  or  in  some  better 
and  uglier  machine,  and  have  left  a  wider  swath  of  disaster 
and  terror  behind  you.  Even  then  the  amusement  is  stale 
unless  the  papers  tell  you  that  you  broke  the  record,  if  not 
somebody's  neck  also,  print  your  portrait,  and  mention  who  your 
grandfather  was,  by  way  of  showing  how  proud  the  presumably 
worthy  old  man  ought  to  be  of  his  hopeful,  goggle-eyed  descen- 
dant. 

Gregariousness  and  glare  are  the  irredeemably  vulgar  notes 
of  it  all.  To  seek  enjoyment  within  yourself  and  your  own 
circle,  in  resources  of  your  own,  and  without  a  fresh  flash-light 
picture  every  day,  becomes  unendurable.  A  country  residence 
is  impossible  unless  a  dozen  others,  ''of  our  own  set,  you  know," 
are  within  five  minutes'  call;  and  even  then  it  is  slow  without  a 
thronged  race-track  at  hand.  Thus  Newport,  rather  than  Bilt- 
more,  becomes  the  veneered  and  shiny  national  type  for  those 
who  can,  at  will,  command  either.  As  for  the  babes  that  must 
struggle  through  childhood  into  precocious  maturity  in  such 
surroundings,  why,  they  are  to  live  in  this  world,  aren't  they — 
not  in  the  happy  Valley  of  Rasselas?  Why  shouldn't  they  get 
on,  without  rest  and  real  country  life,  as  well  as  their  parents  ? 

If  loss  of  faith  and  loss  of  purpose  have  led  to  such  changes 
from  the  decorous,  albeit  a  little  provincial,  society  of  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  what  transformations  may  not  be  expected 
from  the  same  influences  in  our  political  life  ?    Already  we  begin 
XXIV  [  7  ] 


THE  GIRL 

to  note  the  same  fever  for  variety  and  unreasoning  change.  We 
know  now  how  Aristides  was  banished  because  the  citizens  were 
tired  of  hearing  him  called  the  just;  we  have  more  than  once 
given  in  modern  phrases  the  same  old  Greek  reason  for  our 
own  banishments.  "Oh,  well!  they've  been  in  long  enough; 
let's  try  a  change."  The  steady  persistence  in  policy  of  the 
fathers  and  founders  of  the  Republic  seems  disappearing;  and 
the  political  characteristics  displayed  are  becoming  noticeably 
less  English,  and  even  less  Northern.  "You  are  as  fickle  as  the 
French,  and  as  fond  of  sudden  excitements,"  is  a  criticism  of 
overcandid  observers  from  the  north  of  Europe,  w^hich  we  hear 
with  increasing  frequency;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  of 
late  we  do  show,  oftener  than  could  be  desired,  sudden  and 
irresponsible  popular  movements  which  we  are  apt  to  look  for 
in  the  Latin  rather  than  the  Northern  races.  A  wave  of  excite- 
ment sweeps  over  the  countiy  and  throughout  whole  com- 
munities the  very  best  and  most  conscientious  of  our  people 
are  stampeded  with  sudden  fear  of  European  domination,  and 
alarm  about  the  Pope  of  Rome,  if  we  do  not  hurriedly  erect 
legislative  dams  against  foreign  invasions  on  our  eastern  shores. 
The  Know  Nothings  had  a  close  race  with  the  Free  Soilers 
for  first  place,  and  for  a  time  were  ahead — seeming  actually 
about  to  succeed  in  making  hostility  to  the  foreigner  rather 
than  sympathy  with  the  slave  the  shibboleth  of  the  new  national 
party.  Within  my  own  experience,  a  distinguished  official  and 
highly  honored  citizen  of  New  York  has  vehemently  arraigned 
me  for  neglect  of  duty,  in  my  own  modest  sphere,  in  not  trying 
to  arouse  people  against  the  peril  to  our  liberties  and  the 
alarming  violation  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
involved  in  the  creation  of  a  foreign  prince  in  this  country — in 
the  person  of  Cardinal  Gibbons!  But  presently  the  wind  is 
blowing  from  exactly  the  opposite  quarter;  sympathy  for  the 
sweet  Emerald  Isle  in  turn  overpowers  us;  v/e  raise  money  by 
the  hundred  thousand  dollars,  are  hardly  dissuaded  from  raising 
volunteers  also  for  the  Fenian  army,  and  shout  ourselves  hoarse 
in  pecuniary  and  rhetorical  efforts  to  force  on  a  friendly  nation 
an  acceptance  of  the  solution  wc  think  best  for  her  most  per- 
plexing domestic  problem.  Next  a  sudden  fear  of  Asiatic  com- 
XXIV  [8] 


THE  GIRL 

petition  stampedes  us;  and  wc  instantly  abandon,  as  to  Orientals 
at  least,  our  old  boast  that  our  land  is  the  home  of  the  oppressed 
of  every  clime,  the  land  of  opportunity  for  all  who  would  better 
their  condition.  Straightway  Congress  is  busy  building  dams 
on  our  western  coast  to  keep  the  wave  of  slant-eyed  invaders 
out,  while  our  people  rush  into  excesses  against  those  who  are 
in,  reaching  sometimes  to  riot,  but  more  often  merely  to 
such  refinements  of  cruelty  as  cutting  off  their  pigtails  or 
burning  down  their  joss-houses. 

A  cry  that  the  money  that  was  good  enough  for  us  should 
be  good  enough  for  our  foreign  debtors  carries  half  the  people 
captive;  a  great  national  convention  comes  near  nominating  the 
chief  advocate  of  this  notion  for  the  presidency,  and  the  coun- 
try is  on  the  verge  of  paying  the  national  debt  in  greenbacks. 
A  few  years  later,  a  rather  cheap  rhetorician  catches  the  fancy 
of  an  excited  assemblage  by  talking  about  crucifying  the  people 
on  a  cross  of  gold,  and  straightway  there  sweeps  over  the  land 
like  a  prarie  fire  a  wave  of  excitement  for  persuading  water 
to  flow  uphill,  and  silver  to  be  as  good  as  gold  without  the 
advice  or  consent  of  any  other  nation  on  earth.  Next  we 
plunge  into  municipal  affairs;  give  away  priceless  franchises 
because  we  are  in  such  a  hurry  we  can't  take  time  to  see  what 
they  are  worth;  borrow  till  we  have  exhausted  the  limit,  and 
then  mark  up  the  value  of  our  property  in  order  to  be  able 
to  borrow  more  upon  it,  and  chuckle  over  every  fresh  million 
of  debt  incurred,  as  if  this  were  the  end  of  that  trouble.  Wc 
turn  out  a  reform  administration  for  not  reforming  fast  enough, 
and  instal  Croker  and  Tammany  to  improve  the  job.  We 
grumble  that  the  town  has  been  too  straitlaced,  rejoice  that 
at  last  it  is  blissfully  wide  open,  then  wake  up  to  find  it  in- 
tolerably wide  open,  and  once  more  put  in  a  reformer,  finally 
threatening  to  turn  him  out  again  because  everybody  that 
voted  for  him  hasn't  in  the  first  year  got  everything  he  wanted. 

For  a  long  time  we  itch  to  interfere  in  Spain's  trouble  with 
her  colony,  and  at  last  in  a  white  heat  over  the  explosion  of  a 
naval  vessel  we  do  rush  into  war,  but  not  before  being  caught 
in  the  ebb  of  the  same  tide  and  swept  by  it  into  the  sentimental 
declaration  that  we  will  never,  no,  never,  permit  our  country 
XXIV  [  9  ]  . 


THE  GIRL 

to  reap  from  this  expenditure  of  its  money  and  its  young  life 
such  security  and  advantage  as  every  other  nation  which  ven- 
tures on  the  solemn  sacrifice  of  the  treasure  and  blood  of  its 
people  has  felt  bound  to  require  from  the  beginning  of  time, 
and  was  bound  to  require.  Next  the  whole  country  is  up  in 
arms  in  another  gush  of  sentiment  to  protest  that  instantly, 
without  safeguards  of  any  sort,  a  little  island  off  in  the  Atlantic, 
more  than  a  fourth  of  the  way  over  to  Africa,  must  be  given 
admission  at  once  to  all  the  rights  and  privileges  of  American 
citizenship.  Presently  the  sentimental  wave  turns  the  other 
way,  and  another  island,  nearer,  larger,  vastly  more  important, 
with  vastly  greater  claims,  over  which  we  have  asserted  a  species 
of  protectorate  for  three-quarters  of  a  century,  and  which 
we  profess  to  be  tenderly  guiding  into  the  family  of  nations, 
is  kept  waiting  for  months  and  years  for  help,  long  since  ac- 
knowledged to  be  our  plain  duty.  Far  from  being  a  mother 
to  this  suffering  orphan,  whom  we  have  ourselves  dragged 
to  our  door  and  dropped  helpless  there,  we  are  exhibiting  a 
capacity,  colossal  as  our  strength,  for  being  a  stepmother. 

Next  we  forget  all  about  these  burning  issues,  put  them 
behind  us  as  if  they  had  never  existed,  and  plunge  pell-mell, 
clergy,  editors,  laity,  and  all  classes  and  conditions  of  men, 
into  a  race  with  the  politicians  for  the  favor  and  the  political 
influence  of  the  downtrodden  contract  coal-miners,  who  were 
only  getting  three  dollars  a  day,  and  had  proclaimed  against 
free  labor  in  a  so-called  free  country  lest  competition  might  re- 
quire them  to  work  a  little  more  than  five  or  six  hours  a  day, 
and  make  coal  cheaper  for  the  multitude.  Thus  between  our 
own  meddling,  and  the  dull  inactivity  of  the  employers,  idly 
dreaming  that  it  will  soon  blow  over,  we  prolong  the  industrial 
paralysis  till  winter  is  at  hand,  and  the  President  himself  is 
forced  to  intervene  in  an  unprecedented  way  to  save  us  from 
a  national  calamity. 

One  day  we  go  wild  over  a  guest  because  he  is  the  brother 
of  an  Emperor;  the  next  we  are  in  a  pet  because  the  same  Em- 
peror wants  to  collect  money  from  an  unwilling  debtor,  who 
doesn't  pay  his  debts  to  us  either.  One  day  we  proclaim 
Russia  as  our  dearest  friend,  and  fret  with  but  half-concealed 

XXIV  [  ID  ] 


THE  GIRL 

contempt  at  Chinese  complaints  about  the  massacre  of  their 
countrymen  in  Wyoming,  or  Italian  complaints  about  sim- 
ilar atrocities  in  Louisiana,  or  foreign  comment  generally  on 
our  burning  of  negroes  at  the  stake;  and  the  next  day  we  are 
demanding  that  our  Government  shall  at  once  and  officially 
serve  peremptory  notice  on  that  same  dearest  friend  at  St. 
Petersburg  that  we  won't  stand  his  equally  wicked  persecu- 
tion of  Jews  in  Kishineff  in  the  heart  of  Russia.  Wc  are  bent 
on  an  isthmus  canal  at  Nicaragua,  and  can  hardly  keep  our 
hands  off  our  ancient  ally  for  attempting  one  at  Panama;  we 
laugh  loud  and  long  at  the  De  Lesscps  collapse  as  proof  of  all 
we  have  said  about  the  utter  impracticability  of  the  Panama 
route,  then  suddenly  turn  around,  buy  up  the  bankrupt,  aban- 
don the  Nicaragua  concern,  and  set  out  to  fmish  that  same  im- 
practicable and  preposterous  Panama  scheme  ourselves. 

Thus  wave  after  wave  of  half-considered  opinion  sweeps 
over  the  country;  we  flash  into  flames  of  sudden  excitement, 
which  fortunately,  for  the  most  part,  die  put  like  heat-light- 
ning; feel  equally  fit  to  flout  all  the  world's  experience,  solve 
at  sight  all  its  problems,  or  fight  all  creation  at  the  drop  of  a 
hat,  and  are  always  in  danger  of  going  off  at  half-cock  into  a 
new  party  or  out  of  it,  into  some  untried  policy  or  out  of  it, 
into  some  monstrous  injustice  or  out  of  it,  into  war  or  out  of  it. 

A  graver  change,  amounting  to  a  distinct  degeneration  in 
the  average  American  character,  may  be  a  further  conse- 
quence, and  is  at  any  rate  a  further  accompaniment  of  the 
tendency  to  loss  of  faith  and  loss  of  purpose.  It  is  the  ex- 
travagant notion,  never  held  in  the  days  of  the  Fathers,  that 
this  is  a  land  of  equality,  and  that  one  man  is  as  good  as  an- 
other. It  has  never  been  a  land  of  equality,  and  one  man 
never  has  been  as  good  as  another,  and  never  will  be,  in  this 
country  or  any  other,  in  this  life  or  any  other — till  the  just 
God  turns  unjust  and  the  creature  that  does  ill  becomes  in  His 
eyes  as  the  creature  that  does  well. 

What  is  true,  and  it  is  the  shining  glory  of  the  Fathers  to 
have  established  it,  is  that  this  is  a  land  where  all  men  are  on 
a  par  just  once  in  their  lives,  for  they  have  an  equal  start. 
Each  man  is  guaranteed  certain  fundamental  essentials  at  the 

XXIV  [  II  ] 


THE  GIRL 

starting  post — his  life,  his  h'bcrty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness 
in  his  own  way,  so  long  as  he  respects  the  corresponding  rights 
of  others.  Beyond  that  it  is  a  fair  field  and  no  favor;  and  from 
the  very  moment  of  the  equal  start  some  draw  ahead  and  others 
lag  behind.  The  equality  has  disappeared  like  the  morning 
mist ;  the  inequality  that  lasts  to  the  end,  and  is  greater  here 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world,  is  the  inspiring  fruitage  of 
those  blessed  republican  institutions  under  which  no  man  can 
be  too  low  to  rise  to  the  top,  if  he  is  fit  for  it. 

But  the  delusion  of  equality  remains  and  poisons.  The  lag- 
gard declares  he  is  just  as  good  as  the  man  that  has  outstripped 
him,  and  that  he  is  the  victim  of  a  monstrous  injustice  in 
being  left  behind.  The  spendthrift  finds  it  iniquitous,  since 
one  man  is  as  good  as  another,  that  he  should  be  poor  and 
needy,  w^hile  the  frugal  and  careful  neighbor  that  started  on  an 
equal  level  with  him  is  free  from  want.  The  idler  swaggers 
up  to  his  employer  with  the  declaration  that,  since  one  man 
is  as  good  as  another,  it  is  an  imposition  to  pay  him  any  less 
than  the  industrious  workman  at  his  side,  and  that  he  has 
a  trades  union  at  hand  to  prove  and  maintain  it  by  a  logic 
you  can't  resist.  One  man  is  as  good  as  another,  and  therefore 
it  is  such  an  outrage  to  deprive  a  man  of  his  vote  merely  be- 
cause he  has  been  a  thief  or  a  murderer  that  the  governor  must 
pardon  him  before  the  expiration  of  his  term  in  the  peniten- 
tiary, in  order  that  the  cloud  on  his  free  and  independent 
American  citizenship  may  be  removed,  and  he  may  resume  his 
rightful  share  in  the  business  of  governing  the  country. 

This  temper  soon  carries  the  false  doctrine  of  equality  one 
step  further.  It  comes  next  that  since  one  man  is  just  as 
good  as  another,  if  the  other  doesn't  think  so  he  must  be 
made  to.  In  fact,  if  he  does  not  agree  with  the  devotees  of 
the  doctrine  at  a  time  when  they  have  started  out  to  enforce 
it  on  their  employer,  or  on  their  associates,  or  on  the  community, 
he  will  do  well  to  seek  liberty  to  earn  his  living  in  some  land 
of  despotism — the  home  of  the  free  is  no  place  for  him  and 
is  full  of  danger.  The  Walking  Delegate  is  just  about  as 
obliging  as  the  traditional  foreman  of  the  fire  engine  who 
said,  "You  may  paint  de  machine  any  color  you  please,  s'long's 

XXIV  [  12  ] 


THE  GIRL 

you  paint  it  red."     You  may   do  as  you  like   in  this  land  of 
liberty,  so  long  as  you  do  what  our  Union  tells  you. 

But  let  us  be  fair  to  the  laboring-man,  and  even  to  his  mis- 
representative,  the  Walking  Delegate.  This  American  intol- 
erance of  dissent  is  not  confined  to  the  Trades  Union.  The 
powerful  trust  may  be  just  as  exacting  and  intolerant  till  its 
demands  have  once  been  successfully  challenged;  and  it  has 
not  at  times  been  bashful  about  making  these  demands  on  leg- 
islatures, on  the  courts,  even  on  the  highest  departments  of 
the  Government,  and  on  national  candidates.  It  is  thought 
to  be  not  bashful  at  this  moment  in  Wall  Street  about  making 
them  upon  the  inevitable  candidates  of  the  party  in  power. 
The  party  machine  has  been  accused  of  the  same  intolerance 
of  dissent;  doctors  and  lawyers  and  bankers  have  small  room 
for  the  inconsiderate  man  who  dares  differ  from  what  for  the 
moment  are  thought  essentials  by  the  temporary  or  local  ma- 
jority; the  tolerance  of  dissent  has  even  been  said  to  have 
reached  into  the  Church. 

An  acute  observer  has  traced  the  turbulence  of  French 
history  since  the  days  of  Mirabeau  to  a  lop-sided  belief  in  their 
Trinity,  Liberte,  Egahte,  Fraternite.  The  controlling  masses, 
he  said,  cared  very  little  for  Liberte  and  hardly  more  for  Fra- 
ternite, but  had  a  consuming,  vitriolic  appetite  for  Egalite. 
And  so  it  came  about  that  equality  under  the  Emperor,  First  or 
Third,  was  better  than  liberty  under  the  Citizen-King  or  under 
the  Republic. 

Our  doctrine  that  one  man  is  just  as  good  as  another  is  car- 
ried farther  still  by  its  devotees:  he  is  more  than  as  good,  he 
is  better;  or  as  the  emancipated  negroes  loved  to  declaim  in 
those  deplorable  reconstruction  days,  "  De  bottom  rail's  on  top, 
bress  de  Lawd."  So  now  it  sometimes  appears  that  if  any 
man  has  the  admitted  power  to  rule  it  is  the  ignorant  man,  the 
idle  man,  the  vicious  man.  To  him  nearly  every  worldly  wise 
person  seems  to  think  it  prudent  to  kowtow ;  while  the  other 
kind  must  obey  or  else  be  clubbed  or  dynamited  into  submission. 

In  such  circumstances  as  we  have  been  describing,  mere 
noise,  clamor,  tumult,  vociferous  demand,  becomes  a  social  and 
XXIV  [  13  ] 


THE  GIRL 

political  force  of  the  first  magnitude.  Under  its  impulse  the 
soberest  and  best  elements  of  the  community  are  not  infre- 
quently swept  into  hasty  conclusions  which  are  afterward 
repented  at  leisure.  Such,  to  take  one  single  example  out  of 
many,  was  the  sudden  conversion  of  nearly  everybody  to  the 
notion  that  arbitration  is  the  most  certain  road  to  justice.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  question  or  depreciate  the  admirable  workings 
of  this  beneficent  device,  when  both  sides  fairly  enter  into  it,  in 
fields  to  which  it  is  adapted.  But  the  sudden  conversion  I 
speak  of  is  to  the  notion  that  it  is  in  every  sudden  need  always 
better  than  the  courts  and  a  cure-all  for  every  ill.  In  con- 
sequence of  the  general  unhesitating  acceptance  of  this  notion, 
if  one  side  to  a  dispute  is  ready  and  eager  for  arbitration,  the 
other  is  vehemently  censured  if  it  in  turn  hesitates  for  an 
instant  at  swallowing  the  nostrum. 

The  old  machinery  of  justice  must  be  set  aside;  the  time- 
honored  tribunals  for  the  protection  of  individual  rights  and 
the  adjustment  of  conflicting  interests  between  man  and  man, 
gradually  evolved  through  long  centuries  of  Anglo-Saxon  de- 
velopment, are  pronounced  too  slow,  and  too  costly,  and  too 
uncertain;  the  safe  and  sure  thing  is  to  compel — for  nothing 
short  of  compulsion  will  satisfy  these  sudden  converts — to 
compel  both  sides  to  appear  before  a  new  tribunal  which  can 
decide  off-hand,  unhampered  by  rules  of  procedure  or  techni- 
calities of  law,  according  to  intuition  and  sense  and  feeling. 
And  so  the  man  that  balks  at  arbitration  has  lost  his  case 
already  before  the  bar  of  that  Public  Opinion  which  rules  the 
country. 

Who  does  not  see,  then,  the  special  advantage  this  up-to-date 
contrivance  for  producing  quick  justice  may  often  give  the  less 
deserving  side?  When  the  Walking  Delegate,  that  new  and 
powerful  Peer  of  the  Realm,  hasn't  been  doing  much  for  a 
week  to  convince  his  society  that  he  is  earning  its  pay,  he  has 
only  to  invent  some  new  demand  for  shorter  hours,  or  more  fre- 
quent shifts,  or  fewer  bricks  in  the  hod,  and  when  it  is  denied 
promptly  calls  for  an  arbitration.  Now  the  essence  of  an  ar- 
bitration, the  only  object  of  an  arbitration,  is  to  settle  the  thing, 
settle  it  quick,  and  make  people  contented  again.  But  how  can 
XXIV  [14  ] 


THE  GIRL 

they  be  contented  unless  they  get  at  least  some  part  of  what 
they  claim?  In  ordinary  disputes  between  individuals  or 
classes  an  arbitration  that  didn't  give  something  to  both  sides 
would  be  almost  unheard  of.  An  arbitration  that  doesn't  more 
or  less  "split  the  difference"  would  be  unusual.  So  the  natural 
end  of  it  is  that  the  Walking  Delegate  gains  the  approval  of  his 
people  and  strengthens  his  position  by  showing  that  he  has 
earned  his  salary;  his  society  gains  something  out  of  the  de- 
mand, where,  till  he  invented  it,  nothing  had  been  expected  or 
wanted  or  thought  of;  and  the  employer  gains — well,  he  gains 
a  settlement  for  the  time  being  any  way,  till  the  Walking  Del- 
egate thinks  of  something  else. 

Exactly  the  same  results  may  be  expected  when  an  employer, 
being  in  the  wrong  in  a  dispute  with  his  workmen,  induces  them 
to  consent  to  an  arbitration,  excepting  that  then  you  have  an- 
other influence  coming  in  to  modify  the  outcome — the  instinctive 
sympathy  all  right-minded  men  feel  for  the  weaker  side  in  a 
controversy.  Very  nearly  the  same  results  may  be  expected 
when,  among  contending  capitalists,  the  one  who  is  getting  and 
deserves  the  worst  of  it  calls  for  an  arbitration.  Very  nearly 
the  same  may  be  expected  when  a  nation  that  sets  up  and  ad- 
heres long  enough  to  a  preposterous  boundary  claim  calls  for 
an  arbitration — unless,  indeed,  as  in  a  recent  case,  the  nation  in 
the  right  is  wise  enough  to  get  exactly  half  of  the  "arbitrators"! 
otherwise  the  unreasonable  claimant  can  never  be  worse  off 
than  before,  and  the  chances  are  in  favor  of  his  gaining  at  least 
something.  No  wonder  arbitration,  with  all  its  recognized 
merits  and  its  beneficent  successes,  has  come  to  be  held  at  a 
premium  by  the  side  that  is  in  the  wrong!  Starting  with  noth- 
ing, that  side  must  generally  come  out  with  something,  anyway, 
to  the  good!  For  the  side  that  is  in  the  wrong,  therefore,  the 
game  is  worth  trying. 

Here  I  must  bring  to  a  close  these  too  prolix  illustrations  of 
the  changing  temper  and  practice  of  our  people,  as  we  have 
been  drifting  out  of  sight  of  those  old  American  safeguards  of 
Faith  and  Purpose.  But  let  no  hearer  for  one  moment  forget 
that  there  is  another  side  to  the  picture.  Admitting  all  faults 
XXIV  [  15  J 


THE  GIRL 

and  inconsistencies  and  hysterical  alternations  of  heat  and  cold, 
our  people  arc  still  the  freest,  most  generous,  most  capable, 
most  active  and  daring ;  our  country  is  still  in  our  eyes  the  best 
the  sun  shines  on.  But  we  should  be  less  its  admirers,  less 
loyal  and  less  useful  as  its  citizens,  if  we  did  not  face  the  known 
facts  with  open  eyes.  Remember,  too,  that  what  we  see  is  but 
in  the  dawn  of  our  new  century,  and  before  our  entire  national 
existence  has  yet  anywhere  near  reached  the  span  the  Psalmist 
assigned  for  two  human  lives.  When  we  get  a  little  nearer 
national  maturity,  and  when  the  gigantic  forces  of  the  Twen- 
tieth Century  are  really  under  full  headway,  where  is  all  that 
incessant,  restless  fever  of  change  to  lead  ?  When  the  physical 
and  moral  whirl  in  which  our  national  character  is  taking  shape 
becomes  still  greater ;  when  the  marvels  of  the  past  half -century 
have  become  the  commonplaces  or  even  the  rejected  crudities 
of  the  next;  when  the  forces  of  steam  are  obsolete  and  elec- 
tricity is  the  slowest  power  we  deal  with;  w^hen  our  popula- 
tion instead  of  merely  eighty  millions  approaches  two  hundred 
millions,  as  it  surely  must,  long  before  the  end  of  the  century, 
as  the  scientific  advances,  which  even  such  an  age  will  count 
miraculous,  burst  upon  us,  what  is  the  poor  human  American 
to  do,  in  his  present  fever  and  with  his  present  nerves,  but  with 
fivefold  greater  powers  placed  in  his  hands,  and  fivefold  greater 
attention  and  capacity  demanded  for  their  control?  If  sixty 
years  ago  the  free  forces  and  rushing  advance  of  the  Republic 
urgently  needed  the  regulation  of  a  powerful  and  learned  con- 
servative body,  who  can  overestimate  the  necessity  for  such 
service  now? 

When  you  ask  how  it  is  to  be  rendered,  one  cannot  be  mis- 
taken in  turning  first  to  those  priceless  qualities  in  any  sound 
national  life,  whose  tendency  to  decay  we  noted  at  the  outset. 
Give  back  to  us  our  Faith.  Give  back  to  us  a  serious  and 
worthy  Purpose.  Restore  sane  views  of  life,  of  our  own  re- 
lations to  it,  and  of  our  relations  to  those  who  share  it  w^ith 
us.  Moderation  in  our  conceit  of  our  own  almightiness  will 
surely  follow,  moderation  in  the  intolerant  assertion  of  our 
own  rights,  moderation  in  meddling  with  the  rights  of  others, 
some  tendency  to  thought  before  action,  some  continuity  of 
XXIV  r  t6  1 


THE  GIRL 

conduct  personal  and  public,  and  some  reference  of  policy  to 
enduring  principle. 

Outside  the  immediate  and  inestimable  effect  on  the  family, 
the  conservative  power  of  educated  women  will  naturally  show 
its  first  and  perhaps  its  chief  influence  in  the  next  greatest 
among  the  forces  that  guide  the  world — that  of  social  life. 
They  will  surely  help  to  check  its  degradation.  They  may  make 
it  regain  its  soothing  relaxation,  and  its  benign  stimulus  for 
the  best  in  ever)'  one.  They  may  even  give  back  to  society  the 
inspiration  it  once  had  for  the  leaders  of  the  world's  work. 
They  will  certainly  correct  the  prevalent  vicious  conception  of 
its  real  scope.  They  will  reject  the  notion  that  it  is  a  sort 
of  trade  to  which  a  few  devote  themselves  as  most  others  do 
to  the  other  pursuits  of  life;  that  thus  there  are,  in  the  vulgar 
phrase  of  the  day,  society  women,  just  as  there  arc  shop  women, 
or  cleaning  women,  and  that  each  class  must  stick  to  its  trade : 
that,  in  fact,  what  is  called  our  best  society  is  a  strictly  limited 
sort  of  trades  union,  unfriendly  to  the  admission  of  apprentices 
not  coming  from  its  own  ranks,  and  that  it  is  an  imperative 
necessity  for  outsiders  with  social  aspirations  to  force  their 
way  into  it  by  push  and  notoriety,  trick  and  device,  if  they 
would  avoid  social  extinction!  From  this  degrading  con- 
ception comes  the  constant  craze  for  newspaper  publicity, 
and  every  other  form  of  publicity;  from  this  paltry  scheming, 
the  vulgar  push,  the  endless  flattery  and  insincerity  and  loss 
of  self-respect  by  foolish  aspirants,  who  seem  all  the  time  to 
ignore  or  be  unconscious  of  the  blighting  influence,  in  the  glare 
and  heat  and  dust  of  such  an  arena,  upon  all  the  finer  qualities 
that  make  women  adorable  and  human  life  attractive. 

If  the  conduct  of  the  so-called  inner  circles  of  society  has 
sometimes  seemed  to  justify  this  brazen  uproar  at  their  gates, 
so  much  greater  the  demand  for  the  conservative  influence  and 
the  real  refinement  that  come  from  the  higher  training  of  supe- 
rior women.  When  other  ideals  are  cherished,  when  faith  and 
purpose  in  life  reassert  their  sway,  society  will  look  for  its  leaders 
even  less  than  it  really  does  to-day,  to  the  embellished  matrons 
still  friskily  playing  tomboy,  and  noisily  marshalling,  for  fresh 
XXIV  [  17  ] 


THE  GIRL 

extravagances  of  social  demeanor  and  amusement,  their  collec- 
tions of  dashing  young  centaurs  from  the  race-track  and 
the  hunting-field,  and  of  handsome  young  cigarette-smoking 
experts  from  the  bridge-table. 

When  these  higher  ideals  do  return,  the  powerful  influence 
of  educated  women  will  surely  array,  as  never  before,  the  best 
of  their  sex  in  compact,  resistless  phalanx  against  a  social  evil, 
alarming,  degrading,  and  demoralizing,  which  has  suddenly 
become  almost  too  common  to  provoke  surprise — the  trans- 
formation of  marriage  from  a  sacrament  of  God  into  a  thought- 
less and  headlong  business  or  social  arrangement,  to  be  dissolved 
almost  at  pleasure.  Six  hundred  and  fifty-four  thousand  per- 
sons divorced  in  this  country  in  twenty  years,  and  those  not  the 
last — such  is  the  deplorable  record  on  which  Catholic  and  Prot- 
estant clergy  are  already  appealing  for  a  union  of  all  moral 
agencies  to  retard  this  downward  rush  of  the  multitude. 

The  same  influence  should  help  resist  the  yet  more  common 
weakening  of  family  ties  and  destruction  of  family  life.  It 
should  correct  at  the  origin  of  the  evil  the  extraordinary  de- 
velopment of  nervous  excitability  that  accounts  for  so  much  of 
our  fickleness  of  view  and  instability  of  belief;  for  the  frequent 
outbursts  of  general  turbulence  and  lawlessness  through  whole 
zones  of  population ;  for  the  varied  and  incredible  character  of 
the  crimes,  for  the  amazing  publicity  which  attends  them,  and 
the  ready  imitation  which  the  wide  knowledge  of  every  new 
crime  often  stimulates. 

Perhaps  the  same  influence  may  even  penetrate  the  citadels 
better  intrenched,  those  of  evils  that  come  from  the  ill-judged 
excesses  of  the  best  of  people.  It  may  possibly  infuse  modera- 
tion into  our  new  and  admirable  devotion  to  athletics,  and 
rescue  us  from  those  vagaries  of  sport  run  mad  that  have  made 
the  football  teacher  more  important  in  our  universities  than 
the  professor  of  chemistry  or  of  philosophy,  and  the  record 
of  the  cinder-track  the  essential  thing  rather  than  the  bacca- 
laureate degree. 

Harder  task  yet,  it  may  restore  sanity  to  our  charity  run 
mad;  may  teach  us  the  infinite  harm  that  lurks  in  our  lazy  way 
of  ridding  ourselves  from  each  casual  beggar  with  a  careless 
XXIV  [  i8  ] 


THE  GIRL 

quarter  instead  of  a  careful  inquiry ;  and  may  even,  after  a  time, 
stop  the  premium  we  put  upon  crime  and  crankiness  when  we 
build  palaces  for  our  lunatics  and  our  criminals,  and  sustain 
them  in  these  establishments  in  a  comfort,  and  even  luxury, 
far  beyond  the  average  of  what  the  taxpayers  who  meet  the 
bills  can  afford  for  themselves.  Under  your  guidance  the  mod- 
erate conclusion  may  in  fact  be  reached  that,  even  for  sweet 
Charity's  sake,  the  upright,  industrious  New  York  farmer  or 
mechanic  or  shopkeeper  is  not  bound  to  house  and  feed  the 
crank  and  the  criminal  better  than  he  can  the  children  of  his 
loins  and  the  wife  of  his  bosom. 

Are  the  burdens  thus  laid  out  for  the  conservative  and  moder- 
ating influence  of  the  educated  women  of  the  land  too  weighty 
to  be  borne  ?  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  am  full  of  good  hope  for 
the  future — more  hopeful  to-night  than  before  I  saw  the  late 
work  of  Vassar,  more  hopeful  at  every  addition  to  the  splendid 
array  of  its  followers,  Smith,  Wellesley,  Bryn  Mawr,  Barnard, 
Radcliffe,  and  the  rest,  with  which  our  country  now  leads  the 
world  in  the  advanced  education  of  women. 

But  that  you  may  not  fall  short  of  the  full  measure  of  your 
high  capacities  and  still  higher  calling,  let  me  ask  your  attention 
to  a  fact,  and  put  to  you  a  question  about  it.  It  is  a  fact,  al- 
most a  commonplace — at  any  rate,  it  is  a  fact  which  I  venture  to 
affirm,  and  believe  to  be  beyond  intelligent  contradiction — that 
the  young  ladies  here  at  eighteen  average  higher  than  any  cor- 
responding body  of  boys  at  the  same  age  in  any  corresponding 
institution.  My  question  is.  How  will  it  be  at  twenty- eight  ? 
On  your  answer  to  that  question  depends  our  hope  that  the 
educated  women  of  the  country  may  furnish  the  conservative 
force  of  our  land  which  the  English  philosopher  led  us  to 
expect,  and  the  Frenchman  to  see  that  we  needed. 

Is  it  not  the  frequent  experience  that  from  the  moment  of 
entering  society  the  girl  almost  stands  still, — is  at  least  surely 
and  generally  passed  by  the  boy, — and  that  in  maturity  and  mid- 
dle Hfe  the  relative  positions  are  apt  to  be  reversed  ?  The  ques- 
tion is  not  raised  with  any  thought  of  suggesting  competition. 
Among  all  the  disagreeable  things  brought  forward  by  the  new 
XXIV  [  19  1 


THE  GIRL 

school,  the  most  hateful  is  this  thought  of  rivalry  between  the 
sexes,  or  of  any  necessary  or  natural  antagonism  of  interests. 
My  closing  suggestion,  then,  with  reference  to  the  opportuni- 
ties before  you,  and  the  country's  need  of  you  is,  not  the  duty 
of  rivalry,  but  the  duty  of  growth.  For,  never  forget,  it  was 
merely  of  the  body,  not  of  the  intellectual  or  the  spiritual  man, 
the  declaration  was  made  that  you  cannot  by  taking  thought 
add  one  cubit  to  your  stature.  When  a  tree  ceases  to  grow, 
your  science  teaches  you  that  it  should  be  harvested.  When 
the  sun  ceases  to  rise,  its  shadows  fall  mournfully  eastward  and 
the  day  is  surely  drawing  to  its  close.  When  you  cease  to 
grow  you  have  already  begun  to  decay.  Grow  then,  while  you 
live ;  grow  to  the  full  height  of  the  duties  we  have  seen.  The 
land  never  needed  you  as  it  does  to-day ;  you  will  never  see  a 
day  in  which  it  will  not  need  you  more  and  more. 


XXIV  [  20  ] 


XXV 


MANHOOD 

"THE  SELECTION  OF  ONE'S  LIFE  WORK' 

BY 

E.  BENJAMIN  ANDREWS 

PRESIDENT    OF    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    NEBRASKA 


JJT'E   have   dwelt  long   upon    questions  oj  youth,  the   early 
^  days,  the  period  oj  preparation  for   the  larger  business 

oj  lije.  We  have  seen  the  grave  mistakes  which,  in  the  opinion 
oj  our  leaders,  are  apt  to  he  made  at  every  step.  Turn  now  to 
the  question  oj  highest  import.  Childhood,  the  playtime,  having 
been  danced  through  somehow,  to  one  tune  or  another,  and  being 
at  last  set  aside,  how  shall  we  decide  upon,  how  enter  upon  the 
career  oj  manhood  ?  What  path  should  each  one  oj  us  jollow  ? 
And  how  shall  each  one  know  to  select  that  path? 

In  this  truly  momentous  issue  we  seek  the  advice  oj  President 
Andrews  oj  the  University  oj  Nebraska.  The  jollowing  address 
jrom  his  pen  is  here  reprinted  with  his  consent  and  by  the  courteous 
permission  oj  Mr.  E.  Brisbane  Walker,  in  whose  Cosmopolitan 
Magazine  it  was  originally  printed.  President  Andrews  has 
himselj  been  so  successjul  in  his  career  that  he  may  well  counsel 
others.  He  has  been  successively  principal  oj  the  Connecticut 
Literary  Institute,  President  oj  Denison  University  in  Ohio, 
President  oj  Brown  University,  and  Superintendent  oj  the  Chicago 
public  schools  be j ore  occupying  his  present  distinguished  position. 

The  selection  of  the  field  in  which  one's  life-work  is  to  be 
done  is  a  momentous  act.  A  wise  choice  in  the  matter  is  in 
itself  a  fortune;  an  error  in  it  can  hardly  ever  be  recalled,  and 
nearly  always  involves  losses  and  pain  for  w^hich  no  good  for- 
tune afterward  can  make  amends.  In  every  community  one 
XXV  [ I  ] 


MANHOOD 

meets  victims  of  ill  guidance  in  this  all-important  matter;  men 
who,  at  the  critical  point  in  the  journey  of  life,  took  the  wrong 
road.  Some  of  them  succumb  quickly  and  die.  Others  wan- 
der aimlessly  and  hopelessly  about,  hardly  attempting  to  ad- 
vance. Many  another  bravely  struggles  on,  only  to  find, 
when  all  his  strength  is  wasted,  that  the  path  is  too  rough, 
crooked,  or  long  for  him,  or  that  it  traverses  country  which  he  is 
constitutionally  unable  to  love.  Is  it  not  inexpressibly  sad 
that  thousands  of  human  lives  should  be  rendered  useless  and 
unhappy  in  these  ways?  Cannot  something  be  done  to  abate 
the  evil? 

At  first  glance  it  is  surprising  that  comparatively  little  has 
been  written  on  a  subject  so  important.  The  explanation 
probably  is  that  the  choice  of  a  life-role  constitutes  in  each 
instance  a  highly  personal  affair,  in  which  it  seems  folly  for  any 
but  the  man  himself  to  take  part.  And,  certainly,  the  choice 
must  finally  be  made  by  each  for  himself.  Outside  advice  or 
hints,  the  best  saws  of  sages  or  philosophers,  can  never,  in  this 
weighty  business,  take  the  place  of  our  own  insight,  discretion, 
and  will. 

Yet  few  solve  the  problem  of  a  life-calling  wholly  without 
counsel.  Consciously  or  otherwise  we  are,  in  our  decision, 
helped  by  what  we  know  of  others'  decisions.  Reflections  on 
the  subject  by  students  of  human  nature  seeking  the  causes  of 
success  and  of  failure  in  life  greatly  aid  many.  It  is  believed 
that  helpful  direction  of  this  kind  may  be  extended  further  than 
it  has  yet  been.  There  may  also  usefully  be  given  some  account 
of  the  special  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  each  several 
profession  or  calling,  the  rewards  and  amenities  to  be  hoped 
for  in  it,  and  the  temptations,  hardships,  and  other  infelicities 
which  it  devotees  must  brave.  The  present  paper  merely  intro- 
duces the  discussion  of  these  topics,  on  which  other  writers, 
specialists,  will  enlarge. 

Certain  favored  spirits  are  never  under  the  necessity  of 
choosing  their  path  in  life.  Most  geniuses  are  such.  They 
are  foreordained  to  this  or  that  mission  and  somehow  become 
aware  of  it  in  good  time.  From  his  earliest  boyhood  Robert 
E.  Lee,  like  young  Hannibal  of  old,  felt  called  to  the  profession 

XXV  [ 2  ] 


MANHOOD 

of  arms.  Before  he  was  ten  Thorwaldsen  carved  beautifully 
in  wood,  excelling  his  father,  whose  trade  it  was,  and  evoking 
from  many  observant  ones  the  prophecy  that  the  lad  would  make 
a  great  sculptor.  Probably  no  artist  ever  becomes  famous 
who  is  not  moved  in  the  direction  of  his  destiny  quite  early. 
And  many  a  man  neither  a  genius  nor  an  artist  is  so  obviously 
fitted  for  some  particular  occupation  that  he  need  never  worry 
or  even  deliberate  over  the  question  in  what  field  he  shall  earn 
his  bread.  All  these  cases,  however,  are  exceptional :  the  ma- 
jority of  human  beings  are  not  so  fortunate. 

A  man  may  be  far  from  sure  what  business  he  ought  to  adopt, 
yet  really  have  a  pronounced  aptitude  in  some  special  direction. 
In  such  a  case  the  proper  precept  is:  Follow  your  bent.  If 
the  subject  possesses  various  species  of  abihty  but  is  peculiarly 
brilliant  in  some  one,  this,  his  main  forte,  is  the  thing  to  give 
him  his  cue.  Highly  versatile  people,  mentally  alert,  interested 
in  all  the  departments  of  science  and  of  fact,  and  having  con- 
siderable but  nearly  equal  powers  in  various  ways,  are  in  much 
danger  of  vacillation  between  two  or  more  forms  of  endeavor, 
dawdling  a  while  over  each,  till  all  their  richness  of  faculty  is 
spent  and  success  impossible.  The  man  preaches,  we  will  say, 
until  some  reverse  overtakes  him  at  that  work.  Cast  down,  and 
aware  that  he  can  teach,  instead  of  redoubling  his  efforts  to 
succeed  in  the  activity  first  chosen,  he  throws  it  up  and  crosses 
over,  a  beginner,  to  the  school-room.  Sooner  or  later  he 
becomes  discouraged  here  as  well.  Having  once  yielded  to 
depression  he  probably  falls  prey  to  it  again,  now  exchanging 
the  school  for  the  law-office.  How  many  potentially  invalu- 
able lives  are  wasted  in  such  fatal  meandering! 

Your  dull  fellow,  lacking  all  special  mental  interest  and  with- 
out any  sense  of  function  or  of  power,  may  quite  possibly  turn 
out  much  better  than  that.  If,  somehow,  he  once  gets  launched 
in  a  given  enterprise,  being  single-minded  and  free  from  dis- 
traction, he  is  likely  to  develop  triumphant  concentration  of 
attention  and  energy.  But  how  is  he  to  make  the  start  ?  Per- 
haps arbitrarily,  by  a  sort  of  flop,  lunging  for  the  first  opportu- 
nity to  work.  Splendid  results  often  wait  upon  such  a  choice. 
Better,  however  go  bv  friends'  advice.  President  Francis 
XXV  [  3 ] 


MANHOOD 

Way  land  used  strongly  to  insist  that  a  man's  friends  are  often, 
if  not  always,  better  judges  of  his  qualifications  for  a  given 
career  than  the  man  himself.  Only,  when  he  puts  his  hand 
to  the  craft  picked  out  for  him — this,  too,  formed  part  of  Way- 
land's  philosophy— he  must  determine  to  succeed  and  hence 
work  like  a  demon.  Interest  in  the  undertaking,  even  devotion, 
will  then  come. 

Still  more  important  is  the  judgment  of  acquaintances  when 
a  candidate  inclines  to  a  profession  through  some  whim  and 
not  from  any  kind  of  rational  consideration.  A  pious  lad 
may  fancy  that  he  is  called  to  holy  orders,  when  the  church 
or  the  bishop  knows  better.  It  often  sorely  taxes  wit  to  break 
up  a  reasonless  preconception  like  this,  the  victim,  dominated 
by  his  one  idea,  being  incorrigible;  but  friendship  cannot 
possibly  be  better  employed.  Once  in  many  cases  the  notion 
of  duty  for  which  no  reason  can  be  assigned  seems  to  prove 
justified,  the  subject,  when  he  has  become  successful,  turning 
back  to  laugh  at  those  who  would  have  brought  him  to  a  differ- 
ent mind.  It  is  true,  notwithstanding,  that  a  man  can  rarely 
with  safety  give  himself  to  a  course  of  life  unless  his  fitness 
therefor  rests  upon  specific  qualities  and  powers  of  his  so  ob- 
vious that  his  intimates  easily  recognize  them. 

Not  seldom  a  victim  of  delusion  in  respect  to  his  calling  has 
been  beguiled  by  doting  parents.  They  devoutly  wished  their 
son  to  be,  say,  a  minister;  and  therefore  took  it  for  granted, 
teaching  him  to  do  the  same,  that  this  vv^as  his  appointed  des- 
tiny. Parents  can  commit  no  greater  indiscretion  than  that, 
nor  can  a  child  be  subjected  to  a  deeper  unkindness.  Among 
the  bitterest  disillusionments  which  the  writer  has  ever  witnessed 
were  those  of  young  men  who,  trained  all  through  the  ardor 
of  boyhood  to  suppose  as  a  matter  of  both  filial  and  religious 
duty  that  they  were  to  become  ministers,  yet,  possessing  no 
taste  or  aptitude  for  that,  at  last,  broken-hearted,  saw  their 
error,  heroically  renounced  ministerial  study  and  struck  into 
other  paths.  So  painful  a  rupture  of  family  and  personal  ex- 
pectations requires  immense  courage,  cariying  with  it  corre- 
spondingly great  danger  of  mean  compromise.  Youth  should 
never  needlessly  be  forced  into  so  fiery  a  trial. 
XXV  [  4  ] 


MANHOOD 

• 
If  there  are  some  who  deem  themselves  suited  to  a  calling 

when  they  are  not,  a  much  larger  number  foolishly  dread 
suggested  callings  out  of  a  belief  that  they  could  not  succeed 
in  them.  I  am  no  speaker,  a  man  says;  I  cannot  make  either 
the  law  or  the  ministry  my  orbit.  But  you  have  vocal  organs, 
and  they  can  be  cultivated.  You  may  also  possess  all  the  neces- 
sary logical  powers.  Perhaps  all  you  lack  is  training,  infor- 
mation, and  hard  work.  The  majority  of  men  have  greater 
versatility  than  they  imagine.  Within  pretty  large  limits  any 
fairly  bright  candidate  can  succeed  reasonably  well  in  any 
occupation  to  which  he  gives  himself  with  sufficient  preparation 
and  energy.  It  cannot  be  too  often  or  vehemently  urged 
that  in  these  days  of  desperate  competition  any  man,  a  genius 
even,  however  perfectly  adapted  to  his  branch  of  activity, 
will  fail  unless  he  starts  with  a  good  outfit  and  then  works 
hard  early  and  late.  On  the  other  hand,  in  our  era  of  special- 
ization, every  profession  has  a  number  of  facets.  It  may  be 
true  that  you  would  fail  as  a  pleader,  but  you  might  succeed 
splendidly  as  counsel,  and  perhaps  rise  to  be  a  judge.  You 
might  successfully  argue  civil  cases  yet  find  it  well  to  avoid 
criminal  cases.  One  clergyman  does  best  as  a  preacher;  an- 
other, not  a  star  in  the  pulpit,  accomplishes  vast  good  as  a 
pastor.  Nearly  every  profession  is  thus  cut  up,  making  place 
for  diverse  tastes  and  talents. 

Besides  objections  to  the  different  spheres  of  professional 
enterprise  based  on  fear  of  personal  unfitness,  numerous 
scruples  connect  themselves  with  the  nature  or  circumstances 
of  the  callings  themselves.  To  these  we  now  attend.  The 
observations  offered  are  in  each  case  simply  suggestive,  not 
exhaustive,  indicating  the  scope  and  method  of  the  inquiry, 
and  leaving  to  other  writers  the  larger  and  more  special  argu- 
ments constituting  the  case  in  extenso  for  and  against  each 
several  profession. 

In  proceeding  with  this  provisional  and  illustrative  study, 
let  us  consider,  first,  the  office  of  the  religious  teacher.  Despite 
all  the  modifications  which  this  office  has  undergone,  it  is  still 
a  most  influential  one,  and  is  certain  to  continue  so. 

No  doubt  theology  has  greatly  changed  and  is  rapidly 
XXV  [  5  ] 


MANHOOD 

• 
changing.  Sacred  books,  once  treated  wholly  as  oracles,  are 
more  and  more  regarded  as  literature.  Inspiration  is  ascribed 
to  their  spirit,  not  to  their  text.  Actual  faith  is  less  and  less 
based  on  philological  or  historical  arguments.  The  great  ru- 
brics of  the  creeds  are  in  process  of  rewriting,  old  language 
being  altered  considerably  and  old  emphasis  much  more. 
Church  and  synagogue  are  not  venerated  as  in  former  years. 
Not  only  do  sceptics  and  infidels  ignore  them,  but  the  same 
is  done  by  an  increasing  company  among  believers,  on  the 
ground  that  both  institutions  have  renounced  their  pristine 
ideals,  forgetting  the  poor  and  lowly.  Nor  does  it  yet  appear 
where  the  revolution  thus  hinted  at  is  to  end. 

For  all  this,  it  would  be  folly  to  expect,  as  some  seem  to  do, 
that  the  function  of  organized  religion  will  be  set  aside.  Re- 
ligion is  an  integral  element  of  human  nature;  you  cannot 
annul  it.  Moreover,  its  normal  working  is  social,  producing  a 
community,  which  must  have  organizers,  teachers,  and  leaders. 
Let  the  form,  profession,  creed,  and  specific  aims  of  ecclesias- 
tical society  change  as  they  will,  the  society  itself  must  remain, 
with  most  of  its  historic  power;  officers  for  it  will  be  in  demand; 
and  their  influence  will  continue  immense.  Newspapers  and 
books  can  never  supplant  oral  speech;  nor  will  the  desultory 
orator  upon  sacred  topics  ever  take  the  place  of  the  stated  preach- 
er, who  knows  the  people  personally  and  sympathizes  with 
their  needs.  Private  pastoral  counsel,  too,  no  less  than  public 
religious  instruction  and  admonition,  can  be  counted  upon  as 
among  society's  permanent  resources  for  improvement. 

A  young  man  meditating  entrance  upon  the  sacred  office 
may,  therefore,  be  sure  that  if  he  does  well  in  it  he  will  never 
lack  occupation  or  influence.  The  vocation,  besides,  possesses 
many  elements  of  attractiveness.  Incessant  converse  with  the 
highest  truths  is  a  rare  privilege,  which  religious  teachers  almost 
alone  can  enjoy.  This,  as  well  as  the  entire  nature  of  their 
work,  tends  to  evoke  in  sincere  men  of  the  cloth  a  certain  beau- 
tiful refinement  and  spirituality  of  mind  which  few  others 
can  attain.  Their  manner  of  life  moves  them  to  self-denial, 
charity,  and  kindness,  helping  them  to  rate  worldly  fortune 
as  not  the  highest  good.  Clergymen  even  the  busiest,  get 
XXV  [  6 ] 


MANHOOD 

opportunity  for  reading  beyond  most  others,  and  in  consequence 
the  clergy  probably  average  to  be  better  informed  than  any 
other  profession.  Also,  no  other  furnishes  so  large  a  pro- 
portion of  good  speakers. 

Clerical  work,  of  course,  has  certain  infelicities,  although 
several  of  these  which  are  often  and  pre-eminently  mentioned 
are  much  less  forbidding  than  is  commonly  supposed. 

As  reported.  Rev.  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale  recently  re- 
marked: ''Young  men  come  to  me  asking  what  vocation  they 
shall  choose,  and  when  I  suggest  the  ministry  they  throw  up 
their  hands  in  dismay  and  respond  that  they  cannot  lead  a  life  in 
which  they  are  compelled  to  follow  to  the  letter  the  dictates  of 
another." 

Such  youth  evidently  judge  that  to  secure  ordination,  or 
retention  in  the  ministry  after  ordination,  they  must  slavishly 
follow  some  creed.  Formerly,  and  indeed  not  very  long  ago, 
there  was  reason  for  this  solicitude  even  in  the  more  enlightened 
communions;  but  the  danger  is  rapidly  lessening,  being  now 
rare,  local,  and  ready  to  disappear.  Religious  people  apprais- 
ing a  leader  think  much  less  of  his  creed  than  formerly,  much 
more  of  his  spirit  and  character.  If  they  find  him  sensible, 
serious,  thoughtful,  eager  to  do  men  good,  they  are  usually 
not  unwilling  to  let  him  separate  and  preach  as  he  pleases, 
even  if  he  should  vent  a  good  deal  of  what  they  deem 
heresy. 

Much  is  made  of  the  fact  that  congregations  sometimes 
dismiss  their  ministers  on  mere  caprice,  and  that  clergymen 
over  fifty  are  less  in  demand  than  younger  and  less  able  com- 
petitors. That  cases  of  such  injustice  and  folly  occur  no  ob- 
server can  doubt;  but  we  believe  them  relatively  rare.  Often 
the  fault  is  emphatically  not  in  the  congregation  but  in  the 
incumbent  or  candidate,  who  has  remitted  zeal  and  becomes 
selfish  and  unprogressive ;  no  fit  example,  leader,  or  instructor. 
Suffering  parishes  do  not  publish  their  griefs  so  readily  as  dis- 
placed clerg}'men  do. 

We  here  face  one  of  the  real  infelicities  of  the  holy  calling, 
the  temptation  which  it  offers  to  be  indolent.     In  no  other 
sphere  of  life  is  one  so  destitute  as  here  of  effective  spur  to  hard 
XXV  [ 7  ] 


MANHOOD 

and  incessant  toil.  So  far  as  the  employment  of  his  time  is 
concerned,  the  clergyman  is  his  own  master.  If  he  will,  he 
can  rise  late  and  idle  away  the  best  hours  nearly  every  day. 
He  can  gad  about,  attend  parties,  lounge  at  his  club  or  sleep, 
with  little  fear  that  any  parishioner  will  take  him  to  task  in  time 
to  do  him  any  good.  Many  fall  victims  to  this  seduction, 
postponing  work  to  pastime  and  contracting  habits  of  idleness, 
at  length  losing  all  power  of  appHcation  and  being  deservedly 
cast  aside  for  better  men. 

Another  extremely  real  temptation  besetting  clergymen 
is  that  to  insincerity,  arising  from  the  routine  character  of  their 
ministrations.  The  very  business  which  engages  them  being 
of  a  sacred  nature,  they  come  to  consider  their  performance 
of  it  as  of  necessity  proper  in  temper.  But  it  need  not  be  so. 
Good  habits  are  highly  dangerous  to  morality,  more  so  than 
aught  else  save  bad  habits.  Liturgical  acts  executed  in  a 
careless  spirit  cannot  but  result  in  hollow  character. 

More  than  any  other  servant  of  the  public  a  pastor  of  a  church 
is  in  peril  from  what  we  may  term  "  coddhng."  If  he  is  popular, 
and  often  when  he  is  not  so,  many  praise  every  utterance  of  his 
as  ''eloquent,"  "scholarly,"  "most  edifying,"  or  as  noteworthy 
in  some  other  aspect.  Elderly  ladies  are  a  clerg}^man's  worst 
enemies  in  this.  Their  habit  of  greeting  him  after  each  service 
with  those  stupidly  laudatory  estimates  of  his  effort  is  not  all. 
Foolishly  tender  inquiries  about  his  health  follow.  He  seems 
to  them  to  look  pale  and  to  need  rest.  Will  he  not  please  be 
good  to  himself,  remit  his  arduous  spiritual  labors  for  a  few 
days,  and  go  recuperate  at  yonder  retreat?  Some  fear  that 
this  will  not  suffice;  the  reverend  gentleman  must  take  a  tour 
in  Europe.  They  raise  the  money  for  this  purpose,  and  bundle 
the  sturdy  victim  off  upon  the  next  Liverpool  steamer.  How 
often  is  not  a  clergyman's  self-respect  undermined  in  ways  like 
these!  Worse  influence  upon  his  character  could  hardly  be 
imagined,  unless  it  were  being  sent  abroad  at  the  expense  of 
some  one  rich  parishioner.  Every  offer  of  such  a  personal  dona- 
tion let  the  minister  resolutely  decline,  unless  he  wishes  terri- 
bly to  impair  his  moral  sensibility  and  his  power  to  bless  men. 
If  it  never  thus  mortgaged  itself  to  Dives  in  the  pew,  the  pulpit 
XXV  [  8 ] 


MANHOOD 

would  have  little  reason  to  dread  the  danger  of  speaking  out 
against  social  wrongs. 

We  hope  it  is  made  clear  in  the  above  that  the  clerical 
calling,  if  entered  upon  and  pursued  in  the  right  spirit,  is  a 
useful  and  honorable  one,  and  that  more  of  those  who  possess 
the  necessary  qualifications  for  it  ought  to  be  encouraged  to 
adopt  it. 

The  lawyer,  like  the  clergyman,  is  to  continue  with  us,  a 
necessary  factor  in  social  administration.  The  notion  which 
seems  to  prevail  that  lawyers'  work  is  unnecessary  is  untenable. 
Activity  in  the  legal  line  is,  in  some  form  or  other,  indispensable. 
Civilization  renders  society  complex.  The  complexity  early 
becomes  so  dense  that  those  not  bred  to  the  mystery,  of  course 
the  great  majority,  are  unable  to  understand  the  relations 
which  society  has  come  to  hold  toward  its  members  or  those 
which  the  members  hold  one  toward  another.  Much  legis- 
lation and  legal  procedure,  many  practices  of  judges  and  of 
lawyers,  are  certainly  most  wry  and  not  at  all  necessary,  and 
we  may  look  for  improvement  in  this  respect;  but  law  practice 
itself  will  not  pass  away.  Moreover,  the  net  result  of  lawyers' 
work  is  advantageous.  With  all  their  faults,  lawyers  probably 
settle  out  of  court  more  cases  than  they  litigate. 

Prejudice  against  lawyers  is  very  general  and  strong.  Many 
believe  that  lawyers  always  act  insincerely.  Many  consider 
every  lawyer  a  liar,  taking  it  to  be  the  lawyer's  express  aim  in 
pleading  cases  to  try  and  make  the  worse  appear  the  better 
reason.  This  misapprehension  perhaps  arises  from  the  fact 
that  even  the  most  reputable  attorneys  are  known  at  times  to 
defend  persons  and  cases  secretly  believed  by  them  to  be  un- 
worthy. Superficially  this  habit  seems  indefensible,  and  people 
naturally  conclude  that  if  the  best  attorneys  are  guilty  of  it 
the  entire  profession  deserves  ill  repute. 

But  is  it  true  that  a  bad  case  at  law  should  not  be  defended, 
and  that  the  lawyer  championing  such  should  in  all  instances 
be  blamed  ?     It  is  not  true. 

Perhaps  one  in  a  thousand  real  criminals  would  secure 
fair  treatment  if  undefended;    but  the  vast  majority,  were  there 
no  friendly  scrutiny  of  the  evidence  against  them,  were  they 
XXV  [  9 ] 


MANHOOD 

left  to  be  dealt  with,  free  from  all  check,  by  the  average  jury 
or  judge,  liable  to  prejudice,  passion,  or  both,  would  inevitably 
receive  sentences  undeservedly  severe.  And  taking  a  great 
many  cases  together,  it  is  probably  best  that  the  guilty  man's 
counsel  should  not  only  plead  all  palliating  circumstances, 
but  should  go  further  and  place  the  client  in  the  most  favorable 
light  which  can  be  thrown  upon  him.  If  in  this  way  justice 
is  sometimes  foiled,  it  almost  certainly  gains  on  the  whole. 

There  is,  however,  a  practice  somewhat  analogous  to  that 
of  defending  criminals  which  wt  believe  to  be  illegitimate, 
deserving  of  reprobation,  and  to  this  practice  is  largely  due 
the  popular  harsh  estimate  of  the  legal  profession.  A  wealthy 
corporation,  let  us  suppose,  wishes  to  carry  through  some 
scheme  which  is  disadvantageous  to  the  community.  It  re- 
tains as  counsel  for  this  purpose  some  legal  gentleman  who 
is  eminent  as  a  citizen.  The  gentleman  permits  himself  to 
"appear"  on  behalf  of  the  corporation,  well  knowing  that 
what  it  is  hoped  to  secure  through  him  is,  not  the  exhibition  of 
his  client's  case  in  the  best  producible  color  (which  would  be 
proper  and  right),  but  the  influence,  on  that  side,  of  his  person- 
ality as  a  citizen.  Often  the  counsel  "appears"  and  that  is 
all;  he  docs  not  utter  a  word.  Although  analogous  to  legitimate 
advocacy,  no  doubt  an  outgrowth  from  that  and  owing  to  that 
its  life,  this  habit  is  not  legitimate  advocacy.  It  is  a  form  of 
bartering  one's  name  for  money,  a  huckstering  transaction 
in  which  the  attorney  treats  his  reputation  as  a  commodity. 

Clearly  lawyers,  like  clergymen,  have  their  special  tempta- 
tions. If  the  priest  may  become  hollow-hearted  in  his  way, 
the  man  of  law  may  crawl  to  the  same  level  by  a  path  all  his  own. 
He  comes  in  contact  with  men's  meaner  side.  He  is  often 
rasped  by  clients,  snubbed  by  the  court,  insulted  by  opposing 
counsel.  At  times  he  is  as  good  as  obliged  to  play  a  part,  to 
seem  to  wish  what  he  does  not  and  not  to  wish  what  he  actually 
does  wish.  Hypocrites  may  certainly  result  from  this  masquer- 
ade ;  yet  they  are  no  necessary  product  of  it.  Upon  reflection 
it  does  not  appear  that  a  devotee  of  the  law  need  find  it  on  the 
whole  at  all  harder  to  maintain  a  solid  and  upright  character 
than  a  man  in  any  other  walk. 

XXV  [  lO  ] 


MANHOOD 

If  now  and  then  one  calls  doctors  quacks,  betraying  a 
prejudice  against  medical  men  similar  to  that  felt  against 
lawyers,  the  sentiment  in  this  case  is  certainly  less  general 
and  powerful  than  in  the  other.  Medicine  nearly  all  deem  a 
noble  calling.  The  trained  physician  is  a  benefactor  to  the 
community;  in  the  alleviation  of  men's  immediate  and  most 
conscious  ills,  his  work  is  beneficent  beyond  any  other  human 
mission.  No  other  class  of  public  servants,  not  even  clergy- 
men, exhibit  greater  unselfishness  or  perform  a  larger  amount 
of  unpaid  service. 

Disinclination  to  enter  the  medical  profession  is  usually 
based  on  other  objections.  Many  dislike  a  physician's  life  as 
involving  constant  contact  with  what  is  morbid,  with  disease, 
wounds,  and  death. 

Certain  young  men  of  a  fine  mental  type  are  repelled  from 
the  profession  because  of  its  alleged  unscientific  character. 
Such  ought  to  specialize  in  surgery ;  for  this,  now  that  anaesthesia 
and  asepsis  are  both  in  the  field,  is  a  science  indeed,  whose 
progress  in  recent  years  is  nothing  less  than  astounding,  as  de- 
lectable to  the  scientific  sense  as  it  is  benign  in  view  of  the 
maladies  which  it  heals. 

It  is  hardly  just  any  longer  to  speak  of  medicine  itself  as 
not  scientific,  if  by  medicine  is  meant  the  sum  total  of  present 
knowledge  on  the  subject.  Confessedly  the  science  of  medicine 
to-day  is  far  in  advance  of  the  practice.  Right  here,  in  fact, 
one  would  think,  earnest  youth  might  find  a  powerful  motive 
for  becoming  physicians.  By  thorough  preparation  in  the 
first  place,  followed  by  tact  and  persistence  in  practice,  patients 
and  their  friends  may  be  brought  to  submit  to  rational  pro- 
cedure in  disease,  letting  it  supplant  those  time-honored  but 
pernicious  methods  to  which  such  hordes  now  yearly  succumb. 
Another  consideration  favoring  choice  of  the  medical  profession 
ought  to  be  found  in  the  magnificent  opportunity  offered  every 
practitioner  to-day  to  substitute  the  prevention  of  disease, 
through  inculcation  of  hygiene  and  sanitation,  for  the  work 
of  trying  to  remedy  disease  when  it  supervenes. 

No  one  would  object  to  entrance  upon  the  teacher's  mission 
on  the  ground  of  its  being  not  useful  or  worthy.  It  is  one  of 
XXV  [  II  ] 


MANHOOD 

the  distinctly  and  unequivocally  honorable  callings.  Every 
grade  of  it  from  the  highest  down  to  the  lowest  offers  oppor- 
tunity for  invaluable  helpfulness  to  the  public  and  to  the 
race. 

This  vocation  also,  however,  has  its  drawbacks.  Teachers' 
remuneration  is  as  a  rule  low  in  comparison  with  their  exertions. 
The  highest  salaries  which  instructors  of  youth  receive  are  far 
beneath  those  common  among  lawyers,  physicians,  and  busi- 
ness men.  If  you  become  a  pedagogue  you  resign  expectation 
of  acquiring  wealth,  unless  from  some  source  outside  your 
occupation.  Another  and  a  much  unhappier  circumstance 
attending  this  line  of  life  is  its  liability  to  make  its  devotee  a 
recluse,  out  of  touch  wdth  the  active,  earnest  affairs  of  men. 
Unless  on  his  guard,  he  becomes  dried-up,  crusty,  misanthropic. 
This  danger  at  first  seems  unaccountable,  owing  to  the  teacher's 
privilege  of  constantly  standing  face  to  face  with  children  and 
youth,  who  are  wide  awake,  ardent,  and  buoyant.  But  while 
he  indeed  confronts  these,  he  can  hardly  mingle  with  them  very 
much.  The  fact  that  the  teacher  is  forever  talking  down, 
addressing  those  who  know  less  than  he,  and  never  his  equals, 
inclines  him  to  pedantry  also,  the  characteristic  vice  of  the 
profession. 

Journalism  is  the  profession  which  one  least  likes  to  recom- 
mend a  young  man  to  undertake.  Being  approached  for  advice, 
you  always  hope  that  the  applicant,  if  he  tries  newspaper  work, 
will  rise  above  the  position  of  a  mere  drudge  reporter,  w^hile 
you  can  rarely  if  ever  be  sure  that  he  will  climb  high  enough  to 
be  independent.  The  business  of  gathering  news  is  respectable 
and  very  useful,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  one  engaged  in 
it  should  not  perfectly  maintain  his  honor.  The  same  is  true 
of  editorial  or  high-class  journalistic  writing,  in  which  one  is 
permitted  to  speak  his  mind.  But  between  these  two  sorts  of 
journalistic  functionaries  there  is  a  third  most  unenviable 
type.  We  refer  to  the  writers  who,  to  retain  their  situations, 
must  every  now  and  then  defend  doings  and  policies  which 
they  abhor.  In  every  occupation  a  subordination  often  pain- 
fully near  to  humiliation  w^ill  at  times  be  found  necessary  till 
you  show  yourself  a  master  in  the, business  and  mount  toward 

XXV  [  12  ] 


MANHOOD 

the  top.     But  such  servitude  is  beheved  to  be  nowhere  else  so 
complete  as  in  the  phase  of  journalism  just  referred  to. 

Drawing  upon  paragraphs  in  the  writer's  little  book  ''Wealth 
and  Moral  Law,"  we  next  enter  a  plea  in  favor  of  "business" 
in  the  usual  sense — the  winning,  or  the  effort  to  win,  wealth. 
The  existence  of  wealth  is  morally  legitimate.  Whatever  is 
needful  to  the  life  and  weal  of  man  has  a  right  to  be.  Wealth 
is  certainly  such.  It  is  simply  humanity's  stock  in  trade,  men's 
tools  and  machinery  wherewith  to  get  their  living.  Without 
a  vast  supply  of  such  instrumentalities  the  very  existence  of  our 
race  in  its  present  extent  would  be  impossible.  Comfort,  culture, 
civilization,  would  be  still  further  out  of  the  question.  So 
long  as  all  must  use  each  moment  of  time  and  ounce  of  strength 
in  fighting  hunger,  savagery  is  the  inevitable  lot. 

Wealth  is  necessar}^  not  as  an  evil  but  as  a  good.  Confess- 
edly, it  is  often  hoarded  with  an  evil  intent,  and  often  put  to 
wrong  uses ;  but  we  should  be  foolish  to  stigmatize  it  as  an  evil 
on  this  account.  No  one  calls  machiner\^  an  evil  because  of 
its  friction,  although,  as  far  as  man's  present  knowledge  ex- 
tends, the  friction  is  inevitable.  The  ills  attending  wealth  are 
much  more  likely  than  those  of  machinery  to  be  some  day 
eliminated. 

The  wealth,  however  large,  of  one  man  docs  not  necessarily 
involve  the  poverty  of  any  other  man.  It  is  a  great  error  to 
suppose  that  the  wealth  of  the  world,  or  of  any  community, 
is  a  fixed,  limited  sum,  like  the  shares  in  a  bank,  so  that,  if  you 
should  get  a  dollar  more  than  you  now  have,  I  must  put  up  with 
a  dollar  less  than  I  now  have.  There  are  cases  indeed  where 
one's  gain  involves  another's  loss;  where,  that  is,  a  man's  gain 
is  got  through  open  or  occult  legal  or  illegal  robbery.  But 
wealth  can  increase,  increase  to  any  sum,  without  this  or  any 
injustice. 

Hence — ^whatever  may  at  some  future  time  be  the  case — as 
things  are,  it  is  no  sin  to  get  rich.  This  is  not  the  same  as  saying 
that  wealth  is  legitimate,  because  vast  wealth  might  be  present 
without  a  single  rich  man — precisely  what  socialists  wish  and 
expect.  Should  their  regime  ever  be  launched  and  work  as 
they  predict,  private  riches  would  be  wrong.  But,  under  the 
XXV  [  13  ] 


MANHOOD 

prevalence  of  our  present  individualistic  system,  which,  mark, 
no  one  and  no  group  of  us  can  change  at  will,  the  private  massing 
and  holding  of  wealth  not  only  does  not  necessarily  involve 
aught  of  injury  to  anyone,  but  may,  and  perhaps  in  most  cases 
docs,  benefit  all  concerned. 

It  is  often  said  that  one  cannot  with  any  assurance  of  success 
engage  in  business  as  now  pursued  without  resorting  to  immoral 
and  dishonorable  practices.  Painfully  much  as  such  a  statement 
has  to  go  upon,  it  is  too  sweeping.  Fraud  and  underhandedness 
are  doubtless  common  in  most  businesses ;  yet  we  can  see,  look- 
ing in  any  direction,  respectable  competencies  built  up  no 
dollar  of  which  is  any  wise  tainted.  Without  too  great  strain 
upon  charity,  we  may  suppose  that  many  vicious  business 
methods  are  resorted  to  out  of  ignorance,  and  will  be  disused 
when  they  are  understood.  And  there  is  reason  to  hope  that 
business  men's  consciences  as  well  as  their  minds  are  receiving 
light.  This  is  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  so  many  men  of 
determined  integrity  have  pursued  business  careers  without 
ever  descending  from  the  plane  of  honor. 

If  there  is  a  profession  which  more  safely  than  any  other 
can  be  recommended  as  peculiarly  enticing  in  itself,  vastly 
and  directly  useful  to  mankind  and  not  as  yet  overcrowded, 
it  is  engineering  in  its  various  phases  and  branches — civil,  chem- 
ical, mechanical,  electrical,  mining,  sanitary,  hydraulic.  En- 
gineers' work,  the  subjection  of  man's  material  environment 
to  man's  service,  is  only  well  begun.  It  must  and  will  go  on, 
and  it  will  go  far  very  soon.  Probably  no  man  living  has  more 
than  the  faintest  foregleam  of  the  development  which  even  the 
next  fifty  years  have  in  store  for  this  feature  of  our  civilization. 
The  force  working  here  will  have  to  be  vastly  enlarged.  Only, 
be  it  observed,  numbers  are  here,  as  elsewhere,  of  much  less 
consequence  than  quality.  If  thorough  preparation  for  one's 
profession  is  always  important,  as  is  certainly  true,  it  is  specially 
vital  to  success  in  engineering,  where  so  much  depends  on  exact 
knowledge,  where  mathematics  and  acquaintance  with  physical 
laws  figure  so  conspicuously.  Besides  being  in  a  high  degree 
both  useful  and  intellectual,  engineering  is  a  form  of  activity  in 
which,  if  you  are  thoroughly  qualified  for  it  and  unremittingly 
XXV  [  14  ] 


MANHOOD 

industrious,  excellent  remuneration  may  be  expected,  and  that 
without  resort  to  doubtful  devices. 

At  the  risk  of  offending  some  readers  and  surprising  more, 
we  venture,  lastly,  to  speak  of  politics  as  in  itself  a  highly  desirable 
profession.  Good  citizens  who  are  so  situated  that  they  can 
compete  for  public  office  ought  to  be  encouraged  to  do  so.  No 
more  useful  career  is  possible  in  this  age  than  is  presented  by 
politics  conscientiously  prepared  for  and  pursued.  The  com- 
mon thought  that  it  is  mean  to  seek  office  or  to  accept  an  office 
unless  it  has  sought  the  man,  is  wholly  perverse.  We  need 
that  hosts  of  thoroughly  able  and  moral  young  men,  well  trained 
in  political  and  social  science,  including  ethics,  should  set 
politics  before  themselves  as  their  life-work.  Do  not  sneer 
at  professional  politics  if  only  it  is  of  the  right  kind.  Politics 
ought  to  be  a  profession.  Rightly  followed,  it  would  be  a 
noble  one. 

To  be  a  public  servant  after  this  fashion  would  require 
extraordinary  grace.  To  succeed,  one  must  religiously  cultivate 
the  hard  side  of  his  nature,  never  to  face  wicked  men,  kindly 
to  endure  lies,  libels,  and  the  whole  contradiction  of  the  public's 
enemies  against  him,  to  give  blows  as  well  as  take  them. 
Where  are  the  men  who  will  covet  political  careers  with  this 
spirit,  preparing  for,  and  if  possible  entering,  public  life  with 
a  determination  to  make  it  purer  and  more  efficient,  not  wait- 
ing to  be  asked  and  urged  to  do  this,  but  seeking  places  of  trust, 
competing  with  selfish  schemers  for  chances  to  exert  great 
power  in  the  capital  affairs  of  men  ? 


XXV  [ 15  ] 


XXVI 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

COLLEGE  TRAINING  AND  THE  BUSINESS  MAN" 

BY 

CHARLES  F.  THWING 

PRESIDENT   OF    WESTERN    RESERVE    UNIVERSITY 


F 


^OR  a  moment  here  we  face  the  intensely  practical. 
There  is  a  cry  throughout  the  business  world  that  the 
college  education  must  justijy  itself  or  must  disappear  from  among 
men  oj  business,  that  its  acquisition  is  an  ornament  to  the  idle 
rich,  a  necessity  perhaps  to  the  lawyer  and  the  doctor,  but  that 
it  must  be  dispensed  with  by  those  who  seek  practical  success 
in  a  wider  field.  Such  a  movement  would  be  a  reversal  oj  the 
wheels  oj  progress.  Yet  to  dismiss  the  outcry  as  mere  ignorance 
and  narrowness  is  a  jolly  possible  only  to  the  narrow  and  the 
ignorant.  A  thoughtjul  attempt  is  here  made  by  Dr.  Thwing 
to  view  the  question  jrom  all  sides,  to  see  why  and  when  the  college 
man  jails  and  why  and  when  he  succeeds  beyond  his  less  javored 
brethren. 

As  our  author  hints,  the  problem  is  really  one  dependent  on 
the  individual.  No  amount  oj  education  whatsoever  can  make 
brains.  It  can  only  develop  them.  To  measure  a  peculiarly 
able  and  energetic  young  jellow  who  lacks  a  collegiate  educa- 
tion against  a  weakling  who  has  been  given  opportunities 
beyond  his  calibre,  who  possesses  a  sword  he  cannot  wield, 
this  is  idle  talk.  Dr.  Thwing  measures  the  best  against  the 
best,  points  out  jrankly  where  the  college  seems  to  jail,  and, 
though  a  college  president  himselj,  shows  no  partiality  jor  his 
own  side  oj  the  question.  He  quotes  success jul  men  jrom  every 
point  oj  view.     His  conclusion  does  not  urge  any  promiscuous 

^  Reprinted  by  special  permission  from  The  North  American  Review, 
Copyright,  1903,  by  The  North  American  Review  Publishing  Co. 
XXVI  [  I  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

rush  of  all  young  men  to  educational  institutions,  but  only  points 
out  the  value  oj  higher  training  jor  certain  youth  under  certain 
clearly  marked  conditions. 

The  world  is  becoming  a  vast  industrial  condition.  The 
basis  of  society  is  changed  from  the  military  and  the  domestic 
to  the  economic  and  industrial.  The  conquest  of  the  world 
by  aggressive  peoples  is  now  made  rather  through  the  locomotive 
and  the  steel  bridge  than  through  the  rifle.  In  this  condition 
the  United  States  is  a  leading  power.  But  these  industrial 
forces  which  spread  themselves  round  the  world  are  the  strongest 
at  home.  The  United  States  is  both  a  vast  machine-shop  and 
a  vast  farm;  and  what  lies  between  the  shop  and  the  farm  is 
covered  by  equally  vast  systems  of  railroads.  These  conditions 
are  formed  into  great  combinations  of  individuals  and  of  capital. 
From  the  individual  to  the  partnership,  from  the  partnership 
to  the  corporation,  from  the  corporation  to  the  combination 
of  corporations  commonly  known  as  the  trust,  is  the  order  of 
development. 

This  industrial  process  and  also  the  unifying  process  in 
industry  will  undoubtedly  continue.  A  great  financier  of  New 
York  has  recently  said  that  the  uniting  of  banks  and  financial 
institutions  would  continue,  if  men  could  be  found  to  manage  the 
resulting  combinations. 

To  this  condition,  therefore,  in  which  the  United  States  finds 
itself,  as  a  manager  of  enormous  business  interests,  what  is  the 
relation  of  the  American  college  ?  What  can  the  American  col- 
lege do  to  make  these  interests  more  worthy  of  humanity  and 
more  helpful  to  the  noblest  and  richest  life  ?  What,  too,  can  the 
American  college  do  to  make  these  business  interests  themselves 
more  efficient  and  more  remunerative? 

The  principal  means  which  the  American  college  can  use  in 
helping  the  industrial  condition  lies  in  the  furnishing  of  well- 
equipped  workers.  But  some  affirm  that  the  college  does  not 
equip,  much  less  well  equip,  its  graduates  to  be  workers  in  the 
world's  hard  work.     A  leader  in  American  industrial  life  says: 

"I  do  not  think  that  the  college  graduate  has  any  advantages 
in  entering  business  over  the  graduate  of  a  high  or  grammar 

XXVI  [  2  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

school.  My  preference  has  always  been  for  boys  to  come  to  me 
direct  from  school  and  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  because  my  expe- 
rience has  shown  me  that  the  four  years  spent  in  college  are  not 
worth  as  much  to  him,  if  he  is  to  become  a  business  man  or 
manufacturer,  as  the  same  time  in  actual  business  experience. 
The  average  college  graduate  is  apt  to  feel  that  he  is  so  edu- 
cated that  he  is  disinclined  to  begin  at  the  bottom;  or,  if  the  case 
is  exceptional  and  the  young  man  is  wilhng  to  begin  on  the 
lowest  round  of  the  ladder,  he  often  becomes  discouraged  by 
seeing  younger  fellows  in  positions  several  years  in  advance  of 
him.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  gained  by  the  discipHne 
of  daily  life  that  comes  with  drudgery,  such  as  the  washing  of 
ink-stands,  cleaning  windows,  carrying  bundles,  and  sweeping 
out  the  store,  although,  unfortunately  for  the  boy's  own  good, 
the  conditions  are  such  at  the  present  day  that  he  is  not  called 
upon  to  do  that  work  as  was  the  custom  a  generation  ago.  I 
used  to  say  that  I  did  not  care  to  hire  a  boy  who  owned  a  dress 
suit.  Of  course,  there  are  exceptions;  but,  if  one  wants  to 
succeed  as  a  business  man,  he  must  begin  by  making  sacrifices, 
and  anything  which  shows  a  tendency  toward  extravagance 
is  not  a  promising  indication.  I  would  advise  a  boy  of  eighteen 
who  wants  to  become  a  merchant,  a  business  man,  or  a  distribu- 
tor of  products,  to  go  into  the  business  at  that  age  and  not  go  to 
college.  I  would  not,  however,  underrate  a  college  education. 
For  a  lawyer,  a  doctor,  an  engineer,  or  a  successful  member 
of  any  of  the  other  learned  professions,  I  believe  the  university 
education  is  almost  a  necessity.  The  primary  object  of  all 
education  should  be  to  teach  boys  and  girls  how  to  provide 
for  themselves  food,  clothing,  and  shelter." 

The  proposition  which  I  desire  to  support  is,  that  the  graduate 
of  the  American  college,  other  things  or  qualities  being  the  same, 
is  best  fitted  to  administer  the  great  industrial  movement.  He 
is  the  one  who,  on  the  whole,  can  most  wisely  lead  and  most 
effectively  carry  forward  the  business  interests  of  the  United 
States. 

In  order  to  get  a  fair  field  for  our  discussion,  it  may  be  just 
as  well  at  once  to  clear  away  certain  difficulties.  Let  me  say 
at  once  that  certain  boys  should  not  go  to  college.  Boys  who 
XXVI  [  3  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

dislike  study  should  not  go,  for  they  arc  in  peril  of  becoming 
social  rebels  and  pessimists.  Boys  who  cannot  bear  freedom 
should  not  go,  for  they  are  in  peril  of  becoming  slaves  to  un- 
worthy habits.  Boys  who  are  lazy  should  not  go,  for  they  are 
in  peril  of  adopting  a  soft,  luxurious  life,  which  it  is  difficult  to 
throw  off  and  which  ill  becomes  the  hard  w^orker  in  the  work- 
aday world  of  the  new  America.  Of  course,  the  number  of 
boys  of  these  three  classes  is  not  small.  The  going  to  a  college 
is  not  a  question  touching  the  mass,  it  is  a  question  touching 
the  individual.  Whether  the  son  of  a  family  should  or  should 
not  go  to  college  is  a  question  as  personal  as  was  the  question 
whether  the  parents  of  that  son  should  in  the  first  place  become 
husband  and  wife. 

It  is  also  evident  that  certain  business  callings  demand  a 
technical  training.  This  training  may  be  given,  in  part  at 
least,  through  a  college  of  liberal  learning,  or  it  may  be  given 
through  a  technical  or  scientific  school.  The  work  of  the  en- 
gineer, civil,  mechanical,  electrical,  demands  such  a  training. 
This  training  is  as  necessary  to  the  engineer  as  is  the  training 
in  law  to  the  lawyer,  or  in  medicine  to  the  physician.  Whether 
the  engineer,  before  taking  his  technical  studies,  should  first  have 
the  advantage  of  a  general  college  course  is  a  question  which  does 
not  immediately  relate  to  the  present  discussion,  although  be  it 
said  in  passing  that  opinion  is  coming  to  favor  the  view  that  the 
technical  school  is  purely  a  professional  school. 

The  present  discussion,  moreover,  docs  not  concern  the  gen- 
eral advantages  of  a  college  course.  These  advantages,  in  the 
form  of  making  desirable  friendships,  promoting  a  high  type 
of  the  gentleman,  inspiring  one  to  nobler  service  for  society 
and  the  state,  no  one  seeks  to  depreciate.  They  arc  great.  Even 
were  there  no  other  results,  they  would  make  the  college  course 
worth  while  to  most  men.  A  graduate  who  entered  the  cattle 
business,  in  which,  too,  he  was  not  successful,  says  of  his 
college  course: 

''I  think  I  am  safe  in  saying  that  if  I  had  the  decision  to 

make  over  again  I  should  again  take  the  college  education. 

It  may  not  make  great  returns  on  the  investment,  in  actual 

money,  but  to  the  man  who  has  the  taste  and  determination 

XXVI  [  4  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

it  makes,  I  feel,  adequate  returns  in  the  enlarged  field  he  is 
given  for  the  pursuits  of  his  life  with  happiness  to  himself 
and  with  some  benefit  to  those  about  him." 

Now  to  the  main  proposition:  The  college  man  in  business 
is  worth  more  than  the  same  man  would  be  without  a  college 
education.  The  elements  that  go  to  make  up  the  value  of  the 
business  man  to  his  business  are  many;  and  the  elements 
which  go  to  make  up  the  value  of  the  college  to  the  student 
are  also  many. 

First  of  them  all  is  the  intellectual  element.  The  leader  in 
a  great  business  primarily  needs,  of  all  the  intellectual  parts, 
the  power  to  think.  "What  do  the  men  whom  you  employ," 
I  asked  the  manager  of  one  of  the  great  industrial  combinations, 
"  need  the  most  ?  "  "  Brains  "  was  the  prompt  answer.  "  What 
do  those  men  lack?"  I  said  to  a  great  manufacturer  of  steel 
and  iron  products.  "Accuracy,  the  powder  to  take  a  large 
view  and  to  investigate  thoroughly,"  was  the  reply.  The 
merchant  and  the  manufacturer  are  called  on  to  analyze  and 
synthesize  phenomena,  to  relate  fact  to  fact  and  truth  to  truth, 
to  assess  every  fact  or  truth  at  its  proper  value,  to  determine 
the  significance  of  the  symbol,  to  reason  logically,  to  relate 
principle  to  rule  and  rule  to  principle,  to  trace  effect  to  cause, 
to  distinguish  the  essential  from  the  accidental,  and  to  hold 
the  necessary  and  essential  under  a  large  variety  of  conditions 
and  circumstances. 

These  are  the  very  intellectual  qualities  which  the  college 
is  supposed  to  discipline.  The  knowledge  which  one  gains  in 
college  is  of  no,  or  small,  consequence.  In  fact,  knowledge  as 
an  end  is  vastly  overestimated  in  all  educational  judgments,  and 
knowledge  as  a  means  to  power  is  as  vastly  underestimated. 
Two  friends  of  mine  have  recently  said  to  me,  in  answer  to 
my  question  regarding  the  good  of  a  college  course  to  them, 
that  it  consists  in  the  cultivation  of  the  primary  intellectual 
quality  of  thinking.  One  says:  "College  training  teaches  one 
to  go  to  work  at  any  task  with  system  and  method,  in  the  con- 
sciousness that  one  has  acquired  the  ability  to  think  through, 
quickly  and  logically,  the  questions  which  come  up";  and 
another  says:  "College  training  has  enabled  me  to  appreciate 
XXVI  [  5  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

more  fully  and  to  practise  more  diligently  precision  and  system. 
Unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken  the  close  of  my  academic 
life  finds  me  much  stronger  from  the  point  of  view  both  of 
synthesis  and  of  analysis." 

The  men  now  at  the  head  of  great  industrial  corporations 
believe  that  this  intellectual  quality  is  of  great  value.  Mr. 
W.  F.  Merrill,  First  Vice-President  of  the  New  York,  New 
Haven   &  Hartford  Railroad  Company,  says: 

"It  has  been  my  experience  that  men  with  a  college  edu- 
cation make  better  help  than  men  of  about  the  same  calibre 
who  have  not  had  that  advantage,  when  they  get  to  a  point  where 
their  experience  warrants  putting  them  into  advanced  positions; 
and  that  it  does  not  take  them  so  long  a  time  to  get  to  a  point 
where  they  can  be  safely  promoted.  A  college  education  gives 
a  young  man  habits  of  study  and  application  which  are  in- 
valuable. He  learns  how  to  use  his  brains  to  better  advantage 
than  one  who  has  not  had  that  training.  You  might  just  as 
well  say  that  an  apprenticeship  is  of  no  value  to  a  man  who  is 
going  to  follow  a  particular  trade  as  to  say,  in  the  case  of  a 
man  who  is  going  to  use  his  brains,  it  is  not  an  advantage  to  him 
that  he  should  learn  how  to  use  them  logically  by  study.  Brains 
are  capable  of  development  the  same  as  muscles,  and  there  is 
nothing  that  I  know  of  that  will  develop  brains  any  faster 
than  systematic  study.  A  well-trained  mind  thinks  more 
quickly  and  reaches  results  more  speedily  and  more  accurately,"  * 

In  the  personality  of  the  individual  student  the  chief  effect 
of  the  college  is  intellectual,  and  the  chief  element  in  this  effect 
is  the  increase  in  what,  in  a  comprehensive  and  general  way, 
one  calls  the  power  of  thinking.  But  this  is  not  the  only  effect. 
Intellectual  elements  do  not  alone  constitute  the  causes  that  pro- 
mote the  prosperity  of  the  individual  or  of  the  community. 
Some  would  say  that  volitional,  emotional,  ethical  elements 
constitute  causes  more  important  than  the  intellectual.  It  is 
certainly  true  that  a  strong  will  makes  as  much  toward  the  ad- 
vancement of  one  or  of  all  as  a  clear  intellect.  For  in  a  strong 
will  are  embodied    ambition,  diligence,  persistence — qualities 

1  "  The  Utility  of  an  Academic  Education:  an  Investigation,"  R.  T. 
Crane,  p.  27. 

XXVI  [  6  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

most  valuable.     Some  would  also  say  that  an  honest  conscience 
is  as  important  as  either  clear  intellect  or  strong  will. 

Now,  the  training  of  the  will  in  the  college  is  a  thing  much 
more  difficult  to  accomplish  than  the  training  of  the  intellect. 
For  the  will  is  trained  by  doing,  and  doing  is  not  the  primary 
function  of  the  college,  though  it  is  one  of  its  functions.  This 
inability  of  the  college  to  train  the  will  in  adequate  ways  is  the 
chief  cause  of  the  impression  that  a  college  education  is  of  no 
advantage  to  the  business  man,  the  man  whose  life  consists  so 
largely  in  doing  things.  But  let  no  one  suppose  that  the  college 
does  nothing  in  the  training  of  the  will.  Every  effort  of  the 
student  to  master  a  scholastic  problem  is  an  act  of  the  will. 
Every  decision  he  makes  for  better  or  for  worse  is  an  act  of  the 
will.  All  co-operative  endeavors  of  college  men,  and  such  en- 
deavors are  numerous  and  of  great  variety,  represent  the  execu- 
tive function.  Not  a  few  men  in  every  college  class  get  larger 
training  for  their  wall  than  for  their  intellect. 

But  now  reverts  the  question  of  intellectual  relations.  Let 
it  be  granted  that  the  modern  business  man  does  need  the  power 
of  thinking.  How  does  the  college  increase  this  power  more 
effectively  than  business  itself? 

Thinking  is  an  art.  It  is,  of  course,  also,  a  science.  But 
for  the  college  man  it  is  primarily  an  art.  An  art  is  learned  by 
practising  it.  Thinking  is,  therefore,  learned  by  thinking.  It 
represents  habits  of  intellectual  accuracy,  discrimination,  com- 
parison, concentration.  Such  habits  are  formed  by  being 
accurate,  discriminating,  and  by  the  actual  concentration  of 
the  mind.  A  course  in  education  promotes  such  thinking  better 
than  a  course  in  business.  For  education  represents  orderli- 
ness and  system  in  intellectual  effort.  The  effort  proceeds  by 
certain  graduated  steps,  from  the  easy  to  the  less  easy,  from  the 
difficult  to  the  more  difficult.  The  purpose  is  to  train  in  the 
valuation  of  principles,  which  underlie  all  service,  and  not  in 
the  worth  of  rules,  which  are  of  special  and  narrow  application. 
The  man  trained  only  in  business  of  one  kind  is  not  fitted  to 
take  up  business  of  a  different  kind.  The  broadly  trained 
man  is  prepared  to  learn  business  of  any  kind,  and  if  business 
of  one  kind  has  been  learned  he  is  able  to  leave  it  to  take  up 
XXVI  [  7  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

work  of  another  kind  without  difficuhy.  The  practice  of  any 
art  should  make  the  one  who  practises  this  art  a  better  thinker 
in  it ;  but  this  advantage  relates  in  a  large  degree  to  one  who  has 
first  approached  the  art  through  thinking. 

I  suppose  it  may  be  said  that  the  man  who  is  self-educated 
is  usually  very  narrowly  educated.  He  is  educated  along  and 
in  certain  lines.  He  is  educated,  so  to  speak,  tangentially.  His 
thinking,  too,  is  usually  tangential.  It  lacks  comprehensiveness 
and  a  sense  of  relations.  It  has  force,  and  the  endeavors  which 
spring  out  of  it  are  forceful;   but  breadth  is  sacrificed. 

Many  and  of  much  variety  are  the  methods  adopted  to  relieve 
the  individual  of  the  necessity  of  educating  himself.  Schools 
of  correspondence  and  evening  schools  have  their  place,  and 
for  not  a  few  the  place  is  large.  So  thoroughly  worth  while  are 
these  forms  of  education  that  they  should  be  promoted,  their 
weaknesses  eliminated,  and  their  points  of  strength  conserved. 
But  the  peril  against  which  one  is  to  be  on  guard  in  these  more 
or  less  informal  methods  is  the  peril  of  substituting  knowledge 
for  thinking,  information  for  personal  inspiration,  formal  con- 
tent of  learning  for  large  power  of  achievement. 

These  perils  inhere  alike  in  the  more  popular  and  informal 
methods  of  education  and  in  that  technical  and  commercial  edu- 
cation which  the  individual  gets  in  business.  The  education  of 
the  college  and  university  seeks  to  avoid  these  perils.  The  uni- 
versity ofi^ers  opportunities  for  reasoning  and  for  thinking  of  all 
kinds,  degrees,  orders.  It  sets  forth  the  exact  reasoning  of  the 
mathematical  sciences — sciences  in  which  things  are  as  they  are, 
as  Bishop  Butler  says,  and  must  be  as  they  must  be.  It  thus  con- 
firms the  habit  of  intellectual  conviction.  It  sets  forth  the  gen- 
eral reasoning  of  language,  literature,  history,  and  philosophy,  in 
which  truth  is  to  be  separated  from  truth  for  seeing  each  more 
clearly,  in  which  truth  is  to  be  united  with  truth  for  establishing 
both  more  firmly.  It  uses  analysis  and  synthesis.  It  uses 
deductive  reasoning  and  inductive  reasoning.  It  recognizes  the 
uncertainties  attending  intellectual  judgments;  a  recognition 
which  fixes  a  habit  of  intellectual  humility.  It  seeks  to  assess 
each  fact  at  its  proper  value,  to  use  right  methods  of  intellectual 
procedure,  to  maintain  each  faculty  of  man's  whole  being  in 
XXVI  [  8  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

the  performance  of  its  proper  function,  without  interference 
from  other  facukies,  and  to  bring  forth  a  well-ordered  char- 
acter as  the  consummate  result. 

In  this  endeavor  the  content  of  knowledge  plays  a  less  im- 
portant part  than  is  commonly  believed.  Content  of  knowledge 
for  intellectual  processes  is  somewhat  akin  to  content  of  food 
for  physical  processes;  the  purpose  is  not  to  retain  the  content 
but  to  convert  the  content  into  health  and  power.  In  the  in- 
tellectual relation,  too,  as  in  the  physical,  one's  appetite  is  a 
pretty  good  guide  for  the  selection  of  content.  Certainly  no 
other  guide  is  so  good,  or  so  little  unworthy,  unworthy  as  at 
times  it  may  prove  to  be.  To  choose  certain  courses  of  study 
in  college  because  one  does  not  like  them,  on  the  ground  that 
the  dislike  represents  a  certain  lack  of  nature  which  these  studies 
may  help  to  fill,  may  have  a  certain  degree,  though  small,  of 
reasonableness.  Such  choices  are  medicines.  Medicines  arc 
necessary,  if  one  be  sick.  But  the  mind  of  the  college  man 
should  be  treated  as  if  it  were  in  a  state  of  health.  It,  therefore, 
needs,  not  medicine,  but  food.  To  choose  courses  of  study 
in  college  because  one  does  like  them  represents  the  hygienic 
process  of  assimilation  which  results  in  strength,  health,  growth. 

It  will  usually  be  found,  too,  that  studies  thus  chosen  are 
most  directly  preparatory  to  one's  probable  calling  in  life.  For 
the  desire  which  determines  the  choice  of  studies  also  determines 
the  choice  of  a  vocation.  President  Eliot  writes  of  his  son, 
Charles : 

"He  arrived  at  the  end  of  his  Senior  year  without  having 
any  distinct  vision  of  the  profession  which  awaited  him,  neither 
he  nor  his  father  having  perceived  his  special  gifts.  Neverthe- 
less, it  turned  out,  after  he  had  settled  with  joy  on  his  profession, 
that,  if  he  had  known  at  the  beginning  of  his  Sophomore  year 
what  his  profession  was  to  be,  he  could  not  have  selected  his 
studies  better  than  he  did  with  only  the  guidance  of  his  likings 
and  natural  interests.  He  took  during  his  last  three  years 
in  college  all  the  courses  in  fine  arts  which  were  open  to  him ; 
he  subsequently  found  his  French  and  German  indispensable 
for  wide  reading  in  the  best  literature  of  his  profession;  his 
studies  in  science  supplied  both  training  and  information  appro - 
XXVI  [  9  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

priate  to  his  calling;  and  history  and  political  economy  v/erc 
useful  to  him  as  culture  studies  and  for  their  social  bearings."  ^ 

The  college  course  which  Charles  Eliot  took  was  on  the  whole 
a  broad  and  a  broadening  one.  It  was  not  so  broad  that  it  be- 
came thin  or  a  means  of  intellectual  dissipation.  The  broad 
course  is  always  in  peril  of  becoming  a  little  thin  and  the  narrow 
course  of  becoming  narrowing.  A  course  can  safely  to  a  degree 
become  narrow  in  case  a  man  knows  the  channel  in  which  his 
life  is  to  flow.  But  most  men  do  not  so  know.  "I  am  to-day 
thirty  years  old,  I  graduate  as  a  mechanical  engineer.  I  now 
know  I  do  not  want  to  be  a  mechanical  engineer.  I  want  to  be 
a  lawyer."  So  said  a  student  on  the  Commencement  Day  of 
his  scientific  school.  Ignorance  of  one's  abilities  or  desires 
or  opportunities  should  lead  one  to  a  broad  course  of  study 
in  the  college.  Even  many  of  the  great  manufacturing  corpo- 
rations prefer  the  liberally  to  the  technically  trained  graduate. 
Said  a  member  of  a  great  corporation  which  builds  steel  mills 
round  the  world: 

"The  man  of  liberal  education  is,  on  the  whole,  worth  more 
to  us  than  the  man  of  technical  training.  He  is  worth  less  for  a 
year  or  two  after  coming  to  us,  but  he  has  a  power  for  learning 
all  branches  of  our  business  which  is  specially  needed." 

The  peril  of  overeducation,  for  those  who  are  to  enter  busi- 
ness, is  a  peril  in  the  existence  of  which  I  find  not  a  few  "captains 
of  industry"  believe.  By  overeducation  is  meant  an  education 
of  the  intellect  which  fits  the  individual  to  do  a  higher  work 
than  is  actually  open  to  him,  or  a  higher  work  than  his  other 
faculties  fit  him  to  do.  The  point  at  which  this  danger  touches 
the  college  relates  to  the  equilibrium  of  personal  forces.  The 
college  may  draw  too  heavily  on  the  intellectual  resources  of 
the  individual.  Strength,  which  in  the  course  of  his  college 
career  he  should  have  given  to  the  will,  the  conscience,  the  heart, 
the  body,  may  have  been  given  to  the  intellect.  As  a  result,  the 
graduate  may  come  forth  from  the  college  halls  bearing  a  mind 
disciplined  to  think,  but  lacking  the  power  of  body  or  of  will 
to  use  this  disciplined  mind.  He  is  like  an  engine,  perfect 
in  every  part,  but  without  sufllcient  steam.     Mr.  S.  R.  Callaway, 

1"  Charles  Eliot:    Landscape  Architect,"  pp.  28,  29. 
XXVI  [  lo] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUx\TE 

formerly  President  of  the  New  York  Central  Railroad,  writes 
me  that  a  friend  of  the  late  Commodore  Vanderbilt  bore  to 
him  from  Lord  Palmerston  a  message  that  it  was  "a  pity  a 
man  with  so  much  talent  had  not  the  advantages  which  educa- 
tion gives."  "You  tell  Lord  Palmerston  from  me,"  said  the 
Commodore,  "that  if  I  had  learned  education  I  would  not 
have  had  time  to  learn  anything  else."  It  is  a  story  beneath 
the  humor  of  which,  says  Mr.  Callaway,  "lies  more  or  less 
of  reality."  The  peril  of  the  overeducation  of  the  intellect 
is  simply  the  peril  of  the  undereducation  of  the  will,  of  the 
conscience,  of  the  heart,  of  the  body.  This  peril  is  to  be 
avoided  not  so  much  by  lessening  the  education  of  the  in- 
tellect as  by  increasing  the  education  of  the  body,  the  heart, 
conscience  and  will.  The  members  of  the  British  cabinets 
of  the  last  twenty-five  years  illustrate  the  advantage  of  a  well- 
proportioned  education.  All  have  been,  with  hardly  an  ex- 
ception, graduates  of  either  Oxford  or  Cambridge;  not  a  few 
have  been  honor  men.  One  never  forgets  Gladstone  with  his 
double  first-class.  But  besides  whatever  intellectual  power 
they  possessed,  they  have  been  men  of  great  strength  of  body 
and  of  distinct  force  of  will.  Unique  strength  of  character 
has  not  segregated  them  from  their  fellows.  They  have  been 
at  once  commanders  and  servants,  men  and  gentlemen,  golf- 
players  and  thinkers. 

Business  of  every  sort  requires  men  of  power:  power  of  intel- 
lect, to  think;  of  will,  to  do;  of  conscience,  to  right;  of  heart, 
to  appreciate,  of  body,  to  begin  and  to  endure.  Some  men  pos- 
sess these  manifold  powers  more  largely  without  a  liberal  educa- 
tion than  other  men  with  a  liberal  education.  But  the  purpose 
of  the  college  is  not  to  make  men  equal,  but  to  develop  each  to 
his  utmost  capacity  of  development.  As  a  rule,  both  the  ablest 
men  and  the  men  not  ablest  by  nature  would  become  still  more 
able  by  reason  of  a  liberal  education.  This  is  the  meaning,  I 
take  it,  of  Prof.  Elihu  Thompson,  who  writes  saying- 

"The  boy  who  does  not  go  to  college  enters  business  life 

earlier,  gets  an  early  start,  and  perhaps  loses  less  of  the  power 

of  adaptation  to  his  surroundings.     The  older  a  man  is,  the  less 

pliable  he  becomes ;  but  men  differ  very  widely  in  this  particu- 

XXVI  [  II  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

lar — some  crystallize  very  early,  others  only  in  advanced  age. 
Nevertheless,  I  do  think  that  in  the  great  majority  of  cases  what- 
ever disadvantage  is  at  first  suffered  is  more  than  made  up  in  the 
end.  I  can  see  no  reason  v^hy  higher  education  should  prevent 
or  lessen  success  in  business  affairs,  vv^hich  success  depends  upon 
good  judgment  and  energy.  In  manufacturing,  and  1  think 
to  an  increasing  extent  in  most  business  undertakings,  a  train- 
ing which  leans  toward  the  scientific  and  technical  will,  I  believe, 
be  of  the  greatest  value.  This  involves  mathematical  proficiency 
in  greater  or  less  degree;  not  mathematics  as  an  abstraction, 
but  in  relation  to  the  concrete  realities." 

And  another  says: 

"If  a  young  man  forms  no  bad  habits  during  his  college 
course,  he  can  well  afford  to  invest  four  years'  time  in  return 
for  the  college  friendships,  and,  more  especially,  the  taste  for 
reading,  for  study,  and  the  higher  and  better  things  of  life;  and 
if  he  accomplishes  no  more  than  acquiring  such  tastes,  his 
time  will  be  well  spent  in  the  pleasure  and  satisfaction  that  he 
will  receive  throughout  his  life,  and  in  his  ability,  when  he  is 
able  to  do  so,  to  retire  from  active  business,  without  feeling 
that  he  can  enjoy  nothing  but  business.  A  young  man  of 
ability,  strong,  tactful,  determined  to  succeed,  will  succeed, 
with  or  without  a  college  education;  and  if  he  has  to  work  his 
own  way  through  college  so  much  the  better  for  him,  for  he  starts 
with  a  distinct  advantage  over  his  fellow-students.  Such  a 
young  man  as  I  have  described  will  soon  overtake  those  that 
started  in  business  four  years  before  he  did,  and  his  mental 
training  should  give  him  a  marked  advantage  over  those  that 
have  not  received  it." 

This  question  of  the  value  of  a  college  training  to  the  man 
entering  business  I  have  discussed  simply  on  the  narrow  basis  of 
the  commercial  service.  Of  course  there  is  another  basis,  and 
one  which  some  would  call  more  important.  One  of  my  corre- 
spondents speaks  of  a  college  course  as  fitting  one  "to  better 
discern  and  like  all  that  is  noble  and  beautiful  in  life";  and 
another-  "College  education  ought  to  make  him  a  more  reason- 
able man,  and  to  increase  his  capacity  for  enjoyment  through- 
out life."     These  are  values  in  themselves;    and,  if  one  vvere 

XXVI  [  ^^2  J 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

inclined  to  urge  the  point,  one  could  show  that  these  values 
have  also  commercial  worth. 

One  also  may  be  allowed  to  say  that  if  civilization  is  to  ad- 
vance it  is  to  advance  not  through  the  sclfward  tendency  of 
the  individual  and  of  individual  effort,  be  that  tendency  either 
material  or  intellectual  or  ethical,  but  also  through  altruistic 
movements.  One  likes  to  quote  Burke's  words:  "Society  is 
a  partnership  in  all  science,  a  partnership  in  all  art,  a  part- 
nership in  every  virtue  and  in  all  perfection."  It  is  a  partner- 
ship including  generations  yet  unborn.  As  one  reflects  on  the 
condition  of  the  present  age,  as  one  reflects  on  the  life  of  the 
future  centuries,  one  realizes  that  the  higher  life  of  the  whole 
race  has  claims  upon  those  who  live  in  the  first  decade  of  the 
twentieth  century.     That  chief  claim  is  to  make  large  men. 

This  discussion  is  made  forceful  by  liberal  extracts  from  the 
few  of  the  many  letters  written  to  me  by  the  heads  of  great 
business  corporations  touching  the  value  of  a  college  training. 
The  first  which  I  submit  is  from  Mr.  Hugh  J.  Chisholm, 
President  of  the  International  Paper  Company : 

''I  regard  a  man  equipped  with  a  college  education,  two 
years'  technical  and  two  years'  law-school  training,  as  the  best- 
equipped  material  to  build  upon,  if  he  is  entering  into  and 
expecting  to  follow  a  manufacturing,  mercantile,  or  banking 
business;  and,  after  a  man  trained  in  this  way  gets  the  practical 
knowledge  of  the  business  in  which  he  engages,  he  has  a  better 
combination  of  qualities  than  the  man  possessing  knowledge 
acquired  from  practical  encountering  or  conducting  of  any 
of  the  above  referred  to  lines  of  business,  whose  education  is 
confined  to  that  which  he  has  received  from  the  high  school. 
The  very  serious  objection,  however,  to  acquiring  such  a  college 
education  as  outlined  above,  is  the  time  it  consumes,  assuming 
that  it  takes  from  four  to  six  years  as  the  shortest  time  possible 
to  so  equip  a  young  man.  The  boy  who  leaves  the  high  school 
and  commences  at  once  from  that  point  to  get  practical  knowl- 
edge of  the  business  or  commercial  life  has  certainly  an  ad- 
vantage later  in  life  when  he  encounters  the  college  graduate 
who  is  just  commencing  his  business  career,  and  by  the  lack 
of  this  practical  technical  knowledge  the  college  graduate  is 
XXVI  [  13  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

handicapped  when  brought  in  competition  with  the  young 
man  who  has  devoted  his  time  to  the  learning  of  the  business 
into  which  he  may  have  entered.  But,  assuming  that  they 
both  possess  equal  mental  and  physical  ability,  in  the  four  or 
six  years  following,  tlie  college  graduate  ought  to  excel  the  young 
man  whose  education  has  been  confined  to  the  high  school. 
In  my  judgment,  the  college  presidents  of  the  present  day 
have  no  more  serious  problem  to  intelligently  and  practically 
w:rk  out  than  that  of  properly  establishing  a  course  of  studies 
in  the  great  colleges  of  this  country  which  will  take  into  consid- 
eration how  best  to  educate  and  equip  that  portion  of  their  stu- 
dents who  intend  to  follow  a  commercial  calling  rather  than 
a  profession,  realizing,  as  every  thinking  man  does  to-day,  the 
great  demand  that  has  been  created  for  the  highest  type  of 
intellectual  ability,  integrity,  and  executive  ability,  necessary 
to  manage  successfully  and  honestly  the  great  amount  of  capi- 
tal that  has  been  and  is  being  concentrated  in  the  large  industrial 
corporations  of  this  country." 

John  W.  Dunn,  President  of  the  International  Steam  Pump 
Company,  says: 

"Although  I  did  not  myself  enjoy  the  benefits  of  a  college 
education,  having  left  school  at  an  early  age  to  go  to  work  for 
my  living,  I  do  not  share  the  prejudice  against  a  college  educa- 
tion which  is  expressed  by  some  of  our  self-made  men.  I 
believe  that  the  theoretical  foundation  which  a  young  man  re- 
ceives at  a  well-conducted  college  can  be  of  great  use  to  him 
in  after  life,  provided  that  on  leaving  college  he  is  willing  to 
begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  to  learn  practically  any  busi- 
ness he  may  choose  to  enter  upon,  without  bringing  with  him 
any  false  idea  that  the  learning  that  he  has  acquired  from  his 
books  and  his  professors  absolves  him  from  going  through 
precisely  the  same  course  of  practical  training  that  he  would 
have  had  to  undergo  if  he  had  gone  directly  from  school  or  high 
school  to  a  shop  or  factory.  We  have  in  our  various  companies 
a  number  of  young  men  who  are  graduates  of  the  various  tech- 
nical institutes,  and  whom  we  are  willing  to  assist  in  making 
their  way,  provided  they  are  content  to  begin  as  common 
operatives,  like  any  ordinary  working-man  who  is  to  earn  his 
XXVI  [  14  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

living.  To  any  young  man  who  is  content  to  take  up  his  work 
in  this  frame  of  mind,  I  believe  that  a  professional  education 
will  be  of  great  value  after  he  has  thoroughly  mastered  the  prac- 
tical details  of  his  work,  and  familiarized  himself  v/ith  those 
matters  which  can  only  be  acquired  by  actual  experience 
and  by  actual  contact  with  business  and  with  men.  Any  young 
man,  however,  who  is  imbued  with  a  belief  that  because  he 
has  gone  through  college  he  has  nothing  further  to  learn,  and 
is  superior  to  the  necessities  which  those  who  have  had  no  such 
advantages  are  compelled  to  recognize,  will  find  that  his  college 
education  is  not  only  of  no  benefit  to  him,  but  is  a  positive 
hindrance  to  his  success  in  life.  My  observation  of  young  men, 
in  whom  I  have  always  taken  a  great  deal  of  interest,  has  led  me 
to  believe  that  the  main  reason  why  so  many  college  men  are 
not  as  successful  in  business  as  others  who  have  only  had  the 
very  plainest  rudiments  of  an  education  is  that  by  reason  of 
the  species  of  conceit  to  which  I  have  just  referred  their  minds 
are  closed  to  those  sources  of  instruction  and  training  which 
they  would  otherwise  gladly  avail  themselves  of,  and  to  which 
the  success  of  most  of  our  self-made  men  is  in  a  considerable 
measure  due.  I  believe  that  all  of  our  best  colleges  recognize 
the  truth  of  what  I  have  just  said,  and  take  pains  to  instil 
it  into  the  minds  of  their  students.  That  is  to  say,  they  im- 
press upon  them  that  when  they  leave  college  they  have  not  learn- 
ed everything  there  is  to  know,  but  are  only  on  the  threshold, 
and  that  the  advantages  they  have  had  over  other  men  will  not 
avail  them  unless  they  apply  themselves  to  their  business 
with  the  same  energy,  fidelity,  and  perseverance  that  those 
other  men  habitually  employ." 

Mr.  J.  Ogden  Armour^  of  Chicago,  through  his  secretary 
states : 

^'That  in  his  opinion,  the  solution  of  this  question,  as  far 
as  commercial  success  is  concerned,  is  not  so  much  one  of  the 
abstract  value  of  advanced  education,  as  compared  with  that 
obtained  in  the  public  schools,  as  it  is  of  adaptability  to  the 
chosen  pursuit  of  the  student.  He,  of  course,  recognizes  the 
very  great  value  of  a  complete  education,  but  he  thinks  it  is 
to  be  largely  measured,  in  relation  to  success  in  commercial 
XXVI  [15] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

affairs,  by  the  trustworthiness,  ambition,  and  perseverance 
that  accompany  it.  With  these  fundamental  quahfications, 
and  others  which  naturally  suggest  themselves,  opportunities 
for  a  successful  career  would  unquestionably  occur.  Mr. 
Armour's  action  regarding  employees  in  his  own  business  is 
practically  wholly  independent  of  the  possession  by  them  of  ex- 
ceptional educational  advantages.  He  does  not,  however,  desire 
to  underrate  the  desirability  of  the  highest  education  possible, 
but  thinks  that  commercial  success  is  chiefly  dependent  upon 
qualifications  which  may  or  may  not  accompany  exceptional 
scholastic  attainment." 

Mr.  Wyerhaeuser,  of  Wyerhaeuser  &  Company,  of  St. 
Paul,  writes: 

"The  disadvantages  under  which  a  college  graduate  labors 
when  he  enters  business  are  that  he  is  pretty  well  advanced 
toward  manhood,  is  awkward,  has  no  business  training,  and 
is  apt  to  think  that  because  he  is  a  college  graduate  he  ought 
not  to  be  obliged  to  commence  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  and 
work  up,  as  the  office  boy  does  v^ho  enters  the  office  when  he 
is  fourteen  years  of  age.  If  he  is  a  man  of  good  sense  and 
does  not  think  too  much  of  his  college  education,  by  the  time 
he  is  forty  years  of  age  he  has  a  great  many  advantages  over 
the  boy  who  left  school  at  eighteen,  and  it  must  be  a  source  of 
great  satisfaction  to  him  during  his  life  that  he  has  had  the 
benefit  of  a  college  education.  I,  by  all  means,  would  recom- 
mend to  a  boy,  who  is  inclined  to  study,  a  course  in  some  good 
college.  He  certainly,  in  the  course  of  time,  will  find  that  he 
is  amply  repaid  for  it.  The  boy  who  is  bright  and  starts  in 
business  after  graduating  from  the  high  school  will,  for  the 
first  ten  years,  get  along  much  better  and  be  happier  than  the 
man  who  has  spent  four  or  five  years  attending  college,  and 
may  have  made  a  good  start  toward  laying  the  foundation  for 
a  profitable  business  long  before  the  college  man  gets  an  insight 
into  the  business.  Still,  I  think  the  college  graduate,  by  the 
time  he  reaches  seventy,  would  have  had  the  most  satisfactory 
life,  and,  perhaps,  would  be  fully  as  successful  as  the  man 
who  has  not  been  fortunate  enough  to  possess  a  college  edu- 
cation." 

XXVI  [  i6  ] 


THE  COLLEGE  GRADUATE 

Mr.  Powell  Stackhousc,  of  the  Cambria  Steel  Company, 
says: 

"I  hold  that  a  young  man  of  proper  physical  and  mental 
balance  cannot  be  overeducated.  In  the  manufacture  of  steel 
(and  the  same  is  true  of  any  modern  manufacturing  operations) 
a  thorough  technical  education  is  an  essential,  as  without  it 
a  limit  of  advancement  will  sooner  or  later  be  reached.  In 
the  commercial  line  it  may  not  be  so  essential,  but  is  a  great 
advantage.  It  is  true  that  there  are  many  notable  men  who, 
without  the  advantages  of  a  technical  education,  have  risen  to 
the  top  of  their  profession;  these  are  the  exceptions  in  many 
thousands,  and  are  only  such  as  have  the  natural  ability,  coupled 
with  great  perseverance  and  the  self-denial  afterward  to  edu- 
cate themselves,  and  they  cannot  be  raised  as  objections,  but 
as  an  incentive  to  a  thorough  college  education.  It  does  not 
follow  by  any  means  that  because  a  young  man  has  passed  a 
college  life  with  credit,  he  will  necessarily  be  a  success  in  any 
line  he  may  select.  He  has  only  been  furnished  with  the  mental 
tools  to  work  with,  and  their  after  application  depends  upon 
his  use  and  the  opportunities  thereby  afforded.  Any  failure 
of  a  young  man  to  secure  the  most  advanced  education  he 
possibly  can  must  in  some  time  of  his  future  life  operate  det- 
rimentally." 

Such  testimonies  I  might  call  to  great  number  and  length. 
But  enough  has  been  said  to  prove  that  the  managers  of  the 
great  business  undertakings  of  the  present  and  of  the  future 
will  receive  large  advantage  from  the  college.  To  the  merchant, 
the  manufacturer,  and  the  administrator  the  college  offers  an 
understanding  more  comprehensive,  a  sense  of  relationship 
more  just,  as  well  as  a  training  of  the  will  more  adequate  for 
large  undertakings.  The  college  helps  to  create  the  man  of 
sobermindedness,  of  personal  resolution,  who  is  intent  on  things 
of  the  mind.  It  aids,  let  us  believe,  in  nourishing  the  noblest 
type  of  the  gentleman.  But,  while  causing  these  richest  per- 
sonal results,  it  is  also  training  great  executives  for  the  great 
affairs  of  the  United  States  and  of  the  world. 


XXVI  [17] 


XXVII 

SPORT 

"THE   MISSION  OF  SPORT  AND  OUTDOOR  LIFE'* 

BY 

GROVER  CLEVELAND 

FORMER    PRESIDENT    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES 


/^NLY  recently  has  the  importance  of  sport  been  admitted 
^  in  our  philosophy  of  life.  The  old  tendency  was  to 
regard  outdoor  exercise  as  a  thing  of  childhood,  to  be  put  aside 
with  other  childish  toys.  Now,  however,  the  need  of  recreation, 
of  refreshment  from  the  overmastering  strain  of  modern  effort, 
becomes  increasingly  apparent.  Youth  may  easily  be  too  ready 
to  give  itself,  to  expend  its  forces.  It  does  not  count  the  cost. 
Hence,  in  timely  warning  to  young  men,  comes  the  following 
address  from  one  whose  devotion  to  outdoor  sports  still  keeps 
him  young  at  seventy.  This  discussion  was  first  published 
by  Mr.  Cleveland  in  The  Country  Calendar,  now  Country  Life 
in  America,  and  is  here  reprinted  by  permission. 

Our  former  President's  own  preference  among  sports  is  well 
known  to  be  for  fishing,  but  he  is  broad-minded  enough  to  speak 
with  equal  enthusiasm  of  every  form  of  exercise.  Whatever 
brings  a  man  outside  himself  and  his  own  petty  worries,  what- 
ever urges  him  to  take  a  full  deep  breath  of  country  air,  that  is 
so  much  capital  to  him;  it  enhances  his  powers  mentally  and 
morally  as  well  as  physically. 

I  AM  sure  that  it  is  not  necessary  for  me,  at  this  late  day,  to 
dwell  upon  the  fact  that  I  am  an  enthusiast  in  my  devotion  to 
hunting  and  fishing,  as  well  as  every  other  kind  of  outdoor  recrea- 
tion. I  am  so  proud  of  this  devotion  that,  if  my  sporting 
proclivities  have  at  times  subjected  me  to  criticism  and  petty 

XXVII  [  I  ] 


SPORT 

forms  of  persecution,  I  do  not  harbor  the  shadow  of  a  desire 
that  my  steadfastness  shall  be  looked  upon  as  manifesting  the 
courage  of  martyrdom.  On  the  contrary,  I  regard  these  criti- 
cisms and  persecutions  as  nothing  more  serious  than  gnat 
stings  suffered  on  the  bank  of  a  stream — vexations  to  be  borne 
with  patience  and  afterw^ard  easily  submerged  in  the  memory 
of  abundant  delightful  accompaniments.  Thus,  when  short 
fishing  excursions,  in  which  I  have  sought  relief  from  the 
killing  vexations  and  perplexities  of  official  duty,  have  been  de- 
nounced in  a  mendacious  newspaper  as  dishonest  devices  to 
cover  scandalous  revelry,  I  have  been  able  to  enjoy  a  sort  of 
pleasurable  contempt  for  the  author  of  this  accusation,  while 
congratulating  myself  on  the  mental  and  physical  restoration 
I  had  derived  from  these  excursions.  So,  also,  when  people 
more  mistaken  than  malicious  have  wagged  their  heads  in  pity- 
ing fashion  and  deprecated  my  guiltiness  of  hunting  and  fish- 
ing frivolity  in  high  public  service,  I  have  found  it  easy  to  lament 
the  neglect  of  these  amiable  persons  to  accumulate  for  their 
delectation  a  fund  of  charming  reminiscences  of  sport;  while, 
at  the  same  time,  I  have  sadly  reflected  how  their  dispositions 
might  have  been  sweetened  and  their  lives  made  happier  if 
they  had  yielded  something  to  the  particular  type  of  frivolity 
which  they  deplored. 

I  hope  it  may  not  be  amiss  for  me  to  supplement  these  person- 
al observations  by  the  direct  confession  that,  so  far  as  my  attach- 
ment to  outdoor  sports  may  be  considered  as  a  fault,  I  am,  as 
related  to  this  especial  predicament  of  guilt,  utterly  incorrigible 
and  shameless.  Not  many  years  ago,  while  residing  in  a  non- 
sporting  but  delightfully  cultured  and  refined  community,  I 
found  that  considerable  indignation  had  been  aroused  among 
certain  good  neighbors  and  friends,  because  it  had  been  said 
of  me  that  I  was  willing  to  associate  in  the  field  with  any  loafer 
who  was  the  owner  of  a  dog  and  gun.  I  am  sure  that  I  did 
not  in  the  least  undervalue  the  extreme  friendliness  of  those 
inclined  to  intervene  in  my  defence ;  and  yet,  at  the  risk  of  doing 
an  apparently  ungracious  thing,  I  felt  inexorably  constrained 
to  check  their  kindly  efforts  by  promptly  conceding  that  the 
charge  was  too  nearly  true  to  be  denied. 

XXVII  [  2  ] 


SPORT 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  certain  men  are  endowed  with 
a  sort  of  inherent  and  spontaneous  instinct  which  leads  them 
to  hunting  and  fishing  indulgence  as  the  most  alluring  and 
satisfying  of  all  recreations.  In  this  view,  I  believe  it  may 
be  safely  said  that  the  true  hunter  or  fisherman  is  born,  not  made. 
I  believe,  too,  that  those  who  thus  by  instinct  and  birthright 
belong  to  the  sporting  fraternity  and  are  actuated  by  a  genuine 
sporting  spirit,  are  neither  cruel,  nor  greedy  and  wasteful  of 
the  game  and  fish  they  pursue;  and  I  am  convinced  that  there 
can  be  no  better  conservators  of  the  sensible  and  provident 
protection  of  game  and  fish  than  those  who  are  enthusiastic 
in  their  pursuit,  but  who,  at  the  same  time,  are  regulated  and 
restrained  by  a  sort  of  chivalric  fairness  and  generosity,  felt  and 
recognized  by  every  true  sportsman. 

While  it  is  most  agreeable  thus  to  consider  hunting  and  fish- 
ing as  constituting,  for  those  especially  endowed  for  their  enjoy- 
ment, the  most  tempting  of  outdoor  sports,  it  is  easily  apparent 
that  there  is  a  practical  value  to  these  sports  as  well  as  all  other 
outdoor  recreations,  which  rests  upon  a  broader  foundation. 
Though  the  delightful  and  passionate  love  for  outdoor  sports  and 
recreation  is  not  bestowed  upon  every  one  as  a  natural  gift,  they 
are  so  palpably  related  to  health  and  vigor,  and  so  inseparably 
connected  with  the  work  of  life  and  comfort  of  existence,  that 
it  is  happily  ordained  that  a  desire  or  a  willingness  for  their 
enjoyment  may  be  cultivated  to  an  extent  sufficient  to  meet 
the  requirements  of  health  and  self-care.  In  other  words,  all 
but  the  absolutely  indifferent  can  be  made  to  realize  that  outdoor 
air  and  activity,  intimacy  with  nature  and  acquaintanceship  with 
birds  and  animals  and  fish,  are  essential  to  physical  and  mental 
strength,  under  the  exactions  of  an  unescapable  decree. 

'  For  the  good  God  who  loveth  us 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

Men  may  accumulate  wealth  in  neglect  of  this  law;  but  how 
infinitely  much  they  will  forfeit,  in  the  deprivation  of  wholesome 
vigor,  in  the  loss  of  the  placid  fitness  for  the  quiet  joys  and  com- 
forts of  advancing  years,  and  in  the  displacement  of  contented 
age  by  the  demon  of  querulous  and  premature  decrepitude! 
XXVII  [  3  ] 


SPORT 


A  LAW   NOT   TO   BE   DISOBEYED 


Men  in  disobedience  of  this  law  may  achieve  triumph  in  the 
world  of  science,  education,  and  art ;  but  how  unsatisfying  are 
the  rewards  thus  gained  if  they  hasten  the  night  when  no  man 
can  work,  and  if  the  later  hours  of  life  are  haunted  by  futile 
regrets  for  what  is  still  left  undone,  that  might  have  been  done 
if  there  had  been  closer  communion  with  nature's  visible  forms ! 

In  addition  to  the  delight  which  outdoor  recreations  afford 
to  those  instinctively  in  harmony  with  their  enjoyment,  and  after 
a  recognition  of  the  fact  that  a  knowledge  of  their  nerve  and 
muscle-saving  ministrations  may  be  sensibly  cultivated,  there 
still  remains  another  large  item  that  should  be  placed  to  their 
credit.  Every  individual,  as  a  unit  in  the  scheme  of  civihzed 
social  life,  owes  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child  within  such 
relationship  an  uninterrupted  contribution  to  the  fund  of  en- 
livening and  pleasurable  social  intercourse.  None  of  us  can 
deny  this  obligation;  and  none  of  us  can  discharge  it  as  we 
ought,  if  our  contributions  are  made  in  the  questionable  coin 
of  sordidness  and  nature's  perversion.  Our  experience  and 
observation  supply  abundant  proof  that  those  who  contribute 
most  generously  to  the  exhilaration  and  charm  of  social  inter- 
course will  be  found  among  the  disciples  of  outdoor  recreation, 
who  are  in  touch  with  nature  and  have  thus  kept  fresh  and 
unperverted  a  simple  love  of  humanity. 

A  CHANCE  IN  THE  OPEN  FOR  ALL 

It  seems  to  me  that  thoughtful  men  should  not  be  accused 
of  exaggerated  fears  when  they  deprecate  the  wealth-mad 
rush  and  struggle  of  American  life  and  the  consequent  neglect 
of  outdoor  recreation,  which  impair  that  mental  and  physical 
vigor  absolutely  essential  to  our  national  welfare,  abundantly 
promised  to  those  who  gratefully  recognize,  in  nature's  ad- 
justment to  the  wants  of  man,  the  care  of  "the  good  God" 
who  "made  and  loveth  all." 

Manifestly,  if  outdoor  recreations  are  important  to  the 
individual  and  to  the  nation,  and  if  there  is  danger  of  their 
XXVII  [  4  ] 


SPORT 

neglect,  every  instrumentality  should  be  heartily  encouraged 
which  aims  to  create  and  stimulate  their  indulgence  in  every 
form. 

Fortunately,  the  field  is  broad  and  furnishes  a  choice  for 
all  except  those  wilfully  at  fault.  The  sky  and  sun  above  the 
head,  the  soil  beneath  the  feet,  and  outdoor  air  on  every  side 
are  the  indispensable  requisites. 


XXVII  [  5  ] 


XXVIII 

THE  TOILERS 

LABOR  ORGANIZATIONS  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES" 

BY 

CARROLL  D.  WRIGHT, 

PRESIDENT  OF  CLARK  COLLEGE 


CTTHE  HON.  CARROLL  D.  WRIGHT,  who  since  1902 
-^  has  been  president  oj  the  newly  founded  Clark  College  in 
Worcester,  Mass.,  held  for  nearly  twenty  years  previously  the 
high  and  arduous  office  oj  Labor  Commissioner  to  the  United 
States.  Hence  no  other  man  could  be  so  well  fitted  to  tell  us 
from  an  impartial  standpoint  what  are  the  position  and  the  pros- 
pects oj  the  laborer  in  America. 

This  is  obviously  one  oj  the  important  problems  oj  to-day 
and  oj  the  juture.  Oj  recent  years  labor  has  begun  to  reassert 
its  ancient  dignity.  Not  only  in  America  but  throughout  Europe 
tlie  system  oj  labor  organization  has  given  the  workingman 
such  power  that  a  juture  begins  to  seem  possible  in  which  his 
efjorts  wiU  be  required  not  to  assert  his  own  rights  but  only  to 
restrain  himselj  jrom  trampling  on  those  oj  others.  Some  keen 
eyes,  however,  begin  to  see,  or  believe  they  see,  a  coming  ameliora- 
tion oj  conditions,  a  practically  working  harmony  between  labor 
and  capital,  which  shall  recognize  the  rights  oj  both.  It  is  in 
this  effort  to  understand  the  juture  oj  labor  by  the  light  oj  its  re- 
cent developments  that  President  Wright  here  lends  us  his  aid. 

There  is  little  or  no  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  modern 
trade  union,  so  far  as  recorded  facts  are  concerned,  prior  to 
the  year  t  700.  During  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries 
the  principles  of  trade  unionism  developed  in  Great  Britain 
until  at  the  present  time  the  unions  are  strong,  numerous,  well- 
equipped  with  funds,  and  generally  recognized  as  important 

XXVIII  [  I  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

elements  in  industrial  development.  It  is  rare  now  to  meet 
an  employer  in  the  old  country  who  does  not  in  some  degree 
approve  of  organized  labor.  He  may  deprecate  particular 
methods  and  insist  that  organizations  encroach  upon  the  rights 
and  responsibilities  of  employers;  but  the  underlying  principle 
of  labor  organization  is  recognized. 

A  trade  union  is  understood  to  be  an  association  of  wage 
earners  for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  or  improving  the  condi- 
tions of  their  employment,  and  it  is  this  form  and  for  this  pur- 
pose that  the  union  has  existed  in  England  for  at  least  two  cen- 
turies. It  did  not  spring  full-grown  into  existence,  but  grew  as 
industry  developed.  This  has  been  the  course,  too,  in  the  United 
States,  although  the  development  has  not  extended  over  such  a 
range  of  time.  Prior  to  the  establishment  of  the  factory  system 
in  the  United  States  there  was  little  labor  organization.  The 
factory  system  was  not  the  cause  of  organization  in  England, 
nor  was  it  particularly  the  cause  of  it  in  the  United  States ;  but 
with  the  factory  system  industry  itself  became  more  thoroughly 
organized,  and  by  the  concentration  of  workers  helped  largely 
to  create  the  desire  for  their  organization. 

The  Southern  colonies,  where  the  slave  system  existed  prior 
to  the  Civil  War,  did  not  offer  any  fertile  field  for  wage  earners 
to  agitate  the  question  of  organization.  The  Northern  colonies, 
although  having  a  different  system  of  labor  from  the  South, 
also  offered  but  little  field  for  labor  agitation  prior  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  factory  system,  because  industry  was  primitive 
in  its  nature,  land  was  plentiful,  laborers  were  in  demand,  and 
habits  and  wants  were  simple.  The  two  systems  of  labor, 
slave  and  free,  naturally  had  their  effect  in  various  directions, 
both  in  the  economics  of  production  and  in  the  relation  of  the 
laborer  to  society.  As  mechanical  industries  developed,  free 
labor  offered  opportunities  for  movement ;  yet  historically  there 
is  not  revealed  any  concerted  action  of  any  consequence  during 
the  colonial  period,  except  incidentally  in  the  early  days  in 
Massachusetts,  when  the  ship  caulkers,  who  were  politicians, 
organized  what  was  known  as  the  "Caulkers'  Club,"  and  it  is 
from  this  name  that  the  American  term  "caucus"  was  derived. 
This  club  existed  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century, 

XXVIII  [  2  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

but  in  those  days  the  elements  of  organization  were  wanting, 
for  organization  comes  through  the  aggregation  of  laborers 
in  industrial  centres. 

The  domestic  system  of  labor  also  stood  in  the  way  of  ex- 
tensive organization.  Thus  it  was  not  until  the  opening  of  the 
nineteenth  century  that  labor  unions  began  to  have  any  in- 
fluence in  industrial  affairs,  and  their  influence  was  very  slight 
until  after  the  first  quarter  of  that  century  had  passed.  In 
1806  the  Tailors'  Union  was  established,  partly  for  trade  pur- 
poses but  largely  on  account  of  political  interests,  as  the  tailors 
had  always  been  participants  in  political  matters.  This  asso- 
ciation grew  from  the  influence  exerted  by  members  of  the  craft 
coming  from  England,  who  preserved  their  loyalty  to  the  Journey- 
men Tailors'  Unions  of  the  old  country.  The  hatters  had  an 
organization  in  18 19,  and  the  shipwrights  and  caulkers  estab- 
lished an  order  in  1822,  under  the  name  of  the  "Columbian 
Charitable  Society  of  Shipwrights  and  Caulkers  of  Boston  and 
Charlestown."  This  organization  was  chartered  by  the  legis- 
lature of  Massachusetts  in  1823.  An  association  called  the 
"New  York  Society  of  Journeymen  Shipwrights"  was  incorpo- 
rated in  the  city  of  New  York  in  1803,  whfle  the  house  carpen- 
ters of  the  same  city  organized  in  1806.  It  is  probable  that  the 
compositors  of  New  York  were  organized  in  the  earliest  years 
of  the  last  century,  for  in  181 7  they  had  a  society  known  as 
the  "New  York  Typographical  Society,"  with  Peter  Force 
as  its  president. 

With  the  year  1825,  on  account  of  new  elements  and  purposes 
which  appeared  at  that  time,  the  development  of  the  labor 
movement  took  on  new  force.  No  single  cause  for  the  spirit 
of  that  year  can  be  assigned.  There  were  many  reasons  for  it, 
among  which  were  the  demand  for  shorter  hours  of  labor  and 
for  higher  wages,  a  desire  to  experiment  in  co-operation,  and 
the  spirit  of  association,  which  rapidly  developed  through  the 
influence  of  the  altruistic  preachings  of  Robert  Owen,  who 
came  to  America  in  1824.  A  wave  of  socialistic  doctrines, 
which  may  well  be  called  the  transcendentalism  of  industr}'. 
swept  over  the  country.  Fourier  and  others  helped  to  feed 
this  spirit,  and  very  many  socialist  experiments  were  inaugu- 
XXVIII  [  3  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

rated,  more  than  two  hundred  communistic  villages  having 
been  founded  as  the  result  of  the  doctrines  taught  by  Charles 
Fourier.  So  the  period  from  1825  to  1850  may  be  called  a 
period  of  reform  movements,  all  having  more  or  less  influ- 
ence on  the  spirit  of  organization,  which  spirit  extended  to  the 
wage  earners. 

The  rapidly  developing  factory  system,  the  very  essence  of 
which  is  the  principle  of  association,  added  economic  force  to 
the  general  reform  movements,  and  after  1825  unions  began  to 
be  formed  everywhere  in  the  Northern  States,  accompanied 
by  an  agitation  for  legislation  for  workingmen,  Boston  and 
New  York  being  the  most  prominent  centres  of  all  the  move- 
ments. Naturally,  labor  literature  appeared,  and  in  1825  the 
Working  Mart's  Advocate  was  published  in  the  city  of  New 
York.  This  publication  was  followed  by  the  Daily  Sentinel 
and  Young  America^  all  published  by  two  Englishmen,  George 
Henry  Evans  and  Frederick  W.  Evans,  who  came  to  America 
in  1820. 

In  1830  a  workingmen's  convention  was  held  at  Syracuse, 
in  the  State  of  New  York,  which  convention  put  up  a  candidate 
for  Governor.  The  next  year  the  movers,  under  the  name  of 
the  "Working  Men's  Party,"  united  with  the  Whigs,  and 
succeeded  in  electing  three  or  four  members  of  the  legislature. 
An  important  convention  was  held  in  Boston  on  the  i6th  of 
February,  1831,  consisting  of  farmers,  mechanics,  and  other 
workingmen.  Out  of  this  meeting  grew  a  delegate  convention, 
held  in  1832,  in  September.  This  convention  discussed  land 
interests,  taxation,  and  co-operative  trading.  Many  of  its 
demands  were  similar  to  those  advanced  by  the  Evans  brothers. 
The  Hon.  Edward  Everett,  afterward  Minister  to  the  Court 
of  St.  James's,  commended  the  organization  of  the  Working 
Men's  Party  as  represented  in  the  convention  of  Boston.  Other 
meetings  were  held  in  that  city,  at  which  it  was  recommended 
that  the  mechanics  of  all  branches  should  hold  meetings  by 
themselves  for  the  purpose  of  consulting  together  and  of  doing 
all  possible  things  to  enable  them  to  come  to  a  mutual  agreement 
upon  the  system  of  working  hours.  The  right  of  laborers  to 
organize  for  the  purpose  of  securing  and  protecting  their  interests 
XXVIII  [  4  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

and  the  question  as  to  whether  general  trade  unions  would  di- 
minish strikes  and  lock-outs  were  also  prominent  in  all  the  dis- 
cussions. Following  these  meetings  in  the  city  of  Boston  in 
the  years  183 1  and  1832,  the  General  Trades  Unions  of  the 
City  of  New  York  were  active  in  discussing  the  same  questions, 
and  this  is  the  first  attempt,  so  far  as  the  history  of  the  develop- 
ment of  industry  is  concerned,  to  unite  workingmen  of  different 
trades  in  one  organization.  In  later  years  this  attempt  was 
repeated  by  the  Knights  of  Labor. 

The  agitation  for  organization  during  the  years  following 
those  just  named  took  various  forms,  and  in  some  cases  the 
employers  took  part  in  the  matter  from  their  point  of  view. 
At  a  meeting  held  in  the  Exchange  Coffee  Rooms  on  the  15th 
of  May,  1832,  the  merchants  and  shipowners  voted  to  ''dis- 
countenance and  check  the  unlawful  combination  formed  to 
control  the  freedom  of  individuals  as  to  the  hours  of  labor, 
and  to  thwart  and  embarrass  those  by  whom  they  are  employed 
and  liberally  paid."  The  meeting  also  pointed  out  what  it 
considered  to  be  ''the  pernicious  and  demoralizing  tendency 
of  these  combinations  and  the  unreasonableness  of  the  attempt, 
in  particular  where  mechanics  are  held  in  so  high  estimation 
and  their  skill  in  labor  so  liberally  rewarded."  The  capitalists 
and  other  employers  in  their  assembly  at  that  time  held  that 
labor  ought  always  to  be  left  free  to  regulate  itself,  and  that 
neither  the  employee  nor  the  employer  should  have  the  power 
to  control  the  other,  and  they  looked  with  deep  regret  upon  any 
course  designed  to  coerce  individuals  and  to  prescribe  the  time 
and  manner  of  labor.  The  employers  announced  that  labor 
organizations  would  drive  trade  from  the  city,  and  they  passed 
a  resolution  pledging  themselves  to  "neither  employ  any 
journeyman  who  at  the  time  belongs  to  such  combinations, 
nor  give  work  to  any  master  mechanic  who  shall  employ  them 
while  they  continue  thus  pledged  to  each  other."  In  this 
resolution  106  firms  joined. 

From  this  statement  it  will  be  seen  that  seventy-five  years  ago 

there  was  as  much  opposition  to  the  organization  of  labor  in 

America  as  existed  in  the  old  country,  but  as  the  country'  grew 

accustomed  to  labor  organizations  it  learned  to  consider  them 

XXVIII  [  5  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

as  helpful  in  many  ways,  and  that  they  were  not  antagonistic 
to  proper  development.  The  American  people,  like  the  English, 
realized  that  trade  unionism  represented  a  struggle  for  im- 
provement, and  that  it  ought  not  to  be  subjected  to  legal  dis- 
abilities, nor  considered  with  suspicion,  nor  brought  under 
harsh  investigation,  nor  subjected  to  persecution.  A  larger 
knowledge,  a  wider  sympathy,  caused  the  American  people  to 
realize  that,  in  spite  of  antagonism,  disabilities,  and  suspicion, 
the  most  intelligent  and  industrious  artisans  of  the  country 
were  making  great  efforts  to  aid  in  the  upward  struggle,  and  to 
enable  the  workmen  to  meet  the  great  exigencies  resulting 
from  sickness,  accident,  old  age,  disability,  irregularity  of  em- 
ployment, death,  and  the  destitution  of  widows  and  orphans. 
Hostility  ceased  in  a  great  measure.  The  courts  became 
more  friendly,  and  instead  of  declaring  all  organizations  to  be 
conspiracies,  as  was  the  habit  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  century, 
they  gradually  took  the  ground  that  organizations  were  legiti- 
mate, and  that  the  efforts  to  secure  increased  remuneration 
were  not  efforts  to  restrain  trade ;  and  the  unions  were  therefore 
able,  after  a  somewhat  tedious  contest  covering  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  to  throw  off  legal  disabilities  and  take 
their  place  among  modern  institutions  as  a  recognized  force 
in  the  rublic  welfare,  and  there  they  remain. 

The  general  understanding  at  the  present  time  is  that  com- 
binations, either  of  labor  or  of  capital  as  such,  are  not  essentially 
objects  of  distrust,  evils  to  be  throttled,  or  diseases  to  be  eradi- 
cated from  the  economic  system,  and  with  this  understanding 
comes  the  recognition  of  the  truth  that  unregulated  competition 
is  the  law  of  death  and  not  of  hfe;  that  it  means  everywhere 
the  survival  of  the  unfit— the  unfit  employer  as  well  as  the  unfit 
employee,  and  the  unfit  type  of  industrial  organization,  whether 
of  employees  or  employers.  The  people  are  learning  that  com- 
bination is  the  inevitable  result  of  efforts  to  escape  suicidal 
conditions  of  unregulated  competition  of  all  forms,  whether  it 
be  the  destructive  competition  of  producers  fighting  each  other 
in  the  dark  for  custom,  or  the  hungry  competition  of  workmen 
fighting  each  other  in  the  dark  for  the  custom  of  employers— 
the  opportunity  to  earn  a  proper  remuneration. 
xxvm  [  6  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

This  brief  historical  view  of  labor  organization  in  the  United 
States  shows  that  it  constitutes  an  integral  part  of  our  industrial 
development  and  is  really  an  influential  feature  of  industrial 
achievement.  Since  1825  the  history  of  trade  unionism  is  a 
progressive  one.  Out  of  the  earlier  combinations  there  have 
grown  some  great  associations  or  organizations,  developing 
power  and  bringing  to  the  attention  of  the  country  conditions 
which  need  reform  and  relations  which  call  for  the.  highest 
ethical  influence  to  secure  their  proper  adjustment;  and  it  is 
sufficient  in  this  place  to  say  that,  no  matter  what  the  opposition 
of  any  particular  period  was  or  the  character  it  assumed,  no 
matter  what  antagonisms  within  disturbed  the  order  of  develop- 
ment, no  matter  how  defections  reduced  the  ranks  of  union- 
ism at  times,  and  jealousies  prevented  success,  labor  organiza- 
tions have  continued  through  success  and  failure,  and  their 
propaganda  have  extended  first  to  all  great  interests  and  ulti- 
mately to  all  parts  of  the  land. 

Among  trade  unionists  there  are  three  types  of  unions 
recognized— the  local,  the  national,  and  the  international.  The 
typical  local  union  is  made  up  entirely  of  members  who  live  and 
work  in  one  town  or  one  restricted  locality,  and  its  business 
is  conducted  in  the  democratic  way,  by  a  vote  of  all  the  members 
meeting  in  one  place.  The  national  and  international  unions 
really  constitute  but  a  single  type,  though  the  formal  distinction 
between  them  1  carefully  preserved  in  all  trade-union  literature. 
The  typical  national  union  aims  at  bringing  under  one  control 
the  workers  in  its  trade  in  the  United  States,  while  the  inter- 
national union,  so  called,  draws  into  its  constituency  the  local 
unions  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  and  sometimes  Mexico. 
Local  unions  are  the  constituent  elements  of  national  and  inter- 
national unions,  and  the  voting  is  done  by  delegates.  Most 
of  the  national  trade  unions  are  affiliated  to  one  great  federal 
organization,  known  as  the  American  Federation  of  Labor. 
The  railway  brotherhoods,  so  called,  keep  their  separate  or- 
ganizations without  affiliating  to  any  other  body.  There  are 
some  independent  unions,  while  the  Knights  of  Labor  are  a 
body  entirely  distinct  from  all  other  organizations  and  have 
a  different  organic  law. 

XXVIII  [  7  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

It  is  difficult  to  ascertain  the  membership  of  unions.  In 
Great  Britain  the  law  requiring  registration  enables  the  Govern- 
ment to  state  with  fair  accuracy  the  strength  of  unions  in  that 
country.  According  to  the  latest  reports  available,  the  English 
trade  unions  had  a  membership  of  1,802,518,  while  in  the 
United  States,  with  double  England's  population,  the  estimated 
membership  of  labor  organizations  on  July  ist  last  was  1,400,000. 
It  is  estimated  at  the  present  time  that  there  are  nearly  18,000,000 
persons  (men,  women,  and  children)  in  the  United  States 
working  as  wage  earners.  The  percentage  embraced  in  the 
labor  unions  is  not  large,  therefore,  being  not  more  than  8  per 
cent,  of  the  whole  body.  It  must  be  remembered,  however, 
that  in  many  trades  the  members  are  organized  up  to  a  large 
proportion,  sometimes  90  per  cent,  of  the  total  number  engaged. 

The  American  Federation  of  Labor  probably  represents 
at  the  present  time  850,000  members,  while  it  is  claimed  that 
the  Knights  of  Labor  have  a  membership  of  nearly  200,000. 
Some  years  ago  this  latter  organization  numbered  nearly  1,000,- 
000.  The  Order  of  Railway  Conductors  of  America  has  nearly 
25,000  members,  the  Brotherhod  of  Locomotive  Engineers 
over  34,coo,  the  Brotherhood  of  Locomotive  Firemen  nearly 
38,000,  the  Brotherhood  of  Railway  Trainmen  about  44,000, 
while  the  Brotherhood  of  Railway  Carmen,  the  Switchmen's 
Union  of  North  America,  the  Order  of  Railroad  Telegraphers, 
and  the  Brotherhood  of  Railway  Trackmen,  whose  member- 
ship has  not  been  recently  reported,  all  constitute  influential 
organizations.  All  these  organizations,  with  some  independent 
bodies,  make  up  the  total  stated — about  1,400,000. 

The  objects  of  most  trade  unions  are  well  represented  in 
the  declaration  of  the  Federation  of  Labor,  which  demands 
eight  hours  as  a  day's  work,  favors  the  national  and  state  in- 
corporation of  unions,  urges  the  obligatory  education  of  children 
and  the  prohibition  of  employment  under  the  age  of  14,  calls 
for  the  enactment  of  uniform  franchise  laws,  and  opposes 
contract  convict  labor  and  the  truck  system  of  payment  of 
wages.  If  favors  the  adoption  of  employers'  liability  acts,  and 
generally  indorses  the  claims  of  trade  unionism  everywhere. 

Trade  unionism  represents  the  interests  of  specific  trades. 
XXVIII  f  8  1 


THE   TOILERS 

The  principles  underlying  the  tenets  of  the  Knights  of  Labor 
ignore  specific  vocations  and  seek  to  harmonize  all  individual 
or  separate  interests  in  the  interests  of  the  whole,  the  declared 
aim  of  the  order  being  to  secure  to  the  workers  of  society  the 
fullest  enjoyment  of  the  wealth  they  are  supposed  to  create  and 
leisure  for  the  development  of  intellectual,  moral,  and  social 
faculties.  Many  of  the  tenets  of  the  Knights  of  Labor  are 
similar  to  those  of  trade  unionism,  and  they  demand  the  in- 
corporation of  labor  organizations,  as  do  the  unionists.  All 
orders  in  America  favor  industrial  arbitration  and  are  practically 
opposed  to  compulsory  arbitration. 

The  Order  of  the  Knights  of  Labor  is  more  socialistic  than 
the  American  Federation  of  Labor,  but  both  have  made  some 
declaration  in  the  direction  of  government  ownership.  For 
many  years  there  has  been  a  contest  for  control  by  the  socialistic 
members  of  the  latter  body,  but  so  far  the  Federation  has  been 
conservative,  and  with  one  exception  has  resisted  successfully 
all  attempts  to  make  a  socialistic  organization  of  it. 

Some  of  the  large  unions  have  funds  of  considerable  amount. 
One  of  the  best  representative  orders  in  this  respect  is  the 
Cigar-makers'  International  Union,  with  a  membership  of 
nearly  34,000.     During  twenty-one   years   this  order  paid   in 

benefits  $4,737»55o- 

The  objects  of  all  organizations  are  peaceful  and  moral 
and  do  not  invite  antagonism,  but  when  it  comes  to  action,  then 
men  differ  not  only  as  to  the  value  of  the  work  of  organized 
labor  but  as  to  the  legitimacy  of  its  purpose.  As  a  rule,  trade 
unions  are  opposed  to  strikes,  and  they  declare  themselves  not 
in  sympathy  with  the  strike  method  of  enforcing  demands. 
They,  of  course,  insist  upon  the  right  to  strike,  and  the  courts 
sustain  this  right.  It  is  the  almost  universal  attitude  of  courts 
in  the  United  States  that  if  one  man  can  leave  his  employment, 
two  or  more  may  do  so,  and  that  there  can  be  no  restriction 
upon  this  privilege.  The  courts  hold,  however,  as  they  do  in 
England,  that  intimidation  and  violence  must  not  accompany 
strikes,  and  that  the  strikers  themselves,  in  indulging  in  these 
things,  are  amenable  to  criminal  law.  Strikes  are  no  longer 
considered  as  conspiracies,  however. 
XXVIII  [  9  ] 


THE    TOILERS 

During  the  twenty  years  closing  December  31,  1900, 
there  had  occurred  in  the  United  States  22,793  strikes,  involving 
117,509  establishments.  Of  these  strikes,  50.77  per  cent, 
succeeded,  13.04  per  cent,  succeeded  partly,  and  36.19  per  cent, 
failed.  Labor  organizations  ordered  14,457,  or  63  per  cent,  of 
all  the  strikes  occurring  during  the  period,  and  of  those  ordered 
by  organizations  52.86  per  cent,  succeeded,  13.60  per  cent, 
partially  succeeded,  and  33.54  per  cent.,  or  about  one-third  of 
all  the  strikes  ordered  by  organizations,  failed.  From  these 
data  is  seen  the  practical  influence  of  labor  organizations  in 
their  attitude  toward  strikes. 

To-day  the  most  prominent  leaders  of  all  labor  organizations 
are  joining  hands  with  broad-minded  employers  everywhere  in 
efforts  to  adopt  the  joint-committee  method  of  settling  disputes. 
They  are  learning  from  the  experience  of  the  mother  country 
that  it  is  better  to  have  such  joint  conciliation  committees, 
before  whom  all  grievances  can  be  laid  as  soon  as  they  arise  and 
by  whom  they  can  be  talked  over  in  a  friendly  but  interested 
Way.  Our  most  intelligent  captains  of  industry  are  thoroughly 
alive  to  this  view,  and  in  connection  with  organized  labor 
they  have  a  grand  opportunity  to  accomplish  results  that  shall 
be  beneficial  to  themselves  and  to  the  community. 

Probably  these  efforts  will  be  facilitated  through  the  in- 
corporation of  trade  unions.  There  is  nothing  in  the  laws  of 
any  of  the  States  of  the  Union  that  prevents  such  incorporation ; 
nevertheless  but  few  organizations  have  taken  advantage  of  the 
laws  allowing  incorporation.  In  the  State  of  New  York  there 
are  a  few  incorporated  unions,  but  as  a  rule  unionists  arc  fear- 
ful of  the  results  of  incorporation.  They  fear  that  their  funds 
may  be  attached  whenever  members  of  a  union  commit  overt 
acts  and  thus  subject  them  to  suits  for  damages,  and  that 
whenever  a  decree  of  a  court  should  be  against  a  union,  the 
result  would  be  a  loss  of  the  charter  and  disintegration  of  the 
organization.  In  all  probability  they  would  stand  better  as 
incorporated  bodies — entities  in  the  eyes  of  the  law — than  they 
do  as  voluntary  organizations. 

The  decisions  of  the  American  courts  relative  to  the  liability 
of  strikers  in  what  is  known  as  picketing  are  similar  in  tenor 
XXVIII  [  10  ] 


THE   TOILERS 

to  those  which  have  been  made  by  the  courts  of  England.  The 
real  question  is  whether  strikers  should  be  enjoined  against 
maintaining  patrols  or  any  form  of  picket  to  prevent  non- 
union men  from  entering  the  works  of  an  estabhshment  under 
strike,  or  from  preventing  the  employer  from  carrying  on  his 
business  unless  he  shall  do  certain  things  which  have  been  de- 
manded of  him.  The  courts  have  no  hesitancy  in  declaring 
that  where  picketing  is  accompanied  by  intimidation  or  force 
the  parties  organizing  or  directing  such  force  or  intimidation 
are  liable  under  criminal  law.  There  are  also  some  decisions 
declaring  that  picketing  itself  is  a  menace,  and  hence  an  in- 
timidation, and  therefore  illegal.  There  has  been  no  decision, 
however,  as  far  reaching  as  that  in  the  Taff  Vale  railway  case, 
recently  decided  by  the  House  of  Lords.  The  doctrine  laid 
down  by  the  Law  Lords,  however — that  any  organization  that 
can  work  an  injury  must  be  held  responsible  for  the  damages 
resulting  therefrom — will  undoubtedly  receive  attention  in 
America. 

Unions  are  very  much  opposed  to  the  modern  method  of 
restraint  through  injunctions,  and  complain  of  the  expansion 
of  the  injunction,  under  which  strikers  are  warned  to  refrain 
from  doing  things  which  if  done  would  be  crimes  under  statutory 
law  and  punishable  accordingly.  They  insist  that,  should  they 
be  accused  of  any  violence,  they  should  be  allowed  trial  as  crimi- 
nals or  breakers  of  the  law  by  a  jury  in  the  ordinary  way,  when 
they  can  have,  under  the  bills  of  rights  as  they  exist  in  the 
United  States,  the  privilege  of  facing  accusers  and  bringing 
fon\^ard  evidence  in  their  defence.  Many  eminent  jurists  feel 
that  the  expanded  use  of  injunctions  in  late  years  is  not  in 
accordance  with  the  strictest  equity,  but  the  difficulty  lies  in 
modifying  by  legislation  some  of  the  principles  involved  at 
common  law  in  the  writ  of  injunction. 

Trade  unionists  have  undertaken  to  secure  recognition 
through  a  system  known  as  collective  bargaining,  the  adoption 
of  sliding  scales  being  a  feature  of  this  work.  Collective  bar- 
gaining has  also  been  indorsed  in  many  cases  by  employers, 
but  occasionally,  as  in  the  great  Homestead  strike  in  1892  and 
some  other  labor  conflicts,  the  scale  has  been  a  prominent 
xxvin  [  II  ] 


THE   TOILERS 

cause  of  difficulty.  Employers  sometimes  resent  the  idea 
of  collective  bargaining,  because  in  carrying  it  out  there  must 
be  a  recognition  of  the  union.  Men  like  Mr.  John  Pier- 
pont  Morgan,  however,  prefer  to  deal  with  well  organized 
and  administered  trade  unions  as  the  medium  through  which 
to  arrange  questions  of  wages  and  other  conditions  of  em- 
ployment, rather  than  to  subject  themselves  to  the  chaotic 
and  unreliable  results  which  are  found  when  workmen  act  as 
individuals. 

The  great  organizations  are  growing  more  and  more  con- 
servative, especially  those  represented  in  the  American  Feder- 
ation of  Labor,  which  was  organized  permanently  in  December, 
1886,  under  its  present  name.  The  country  at  large  owes  a 
debt  to  this  order  which  is  not  always  or  very  generally  recog- 
nized. At  the  time  of  the  great  strike  in  Chicago  in  1894,  when 
the  American  Railway  Union,  the  order  that  organized  the 
strike,  demanded  a  general  or  sympathetic  strike  of  all  mechan- 
ics and  artisans,  the  executive  committee  of  the  American 
Federation  defeated  this  purpose,  and  no  general  strike  occurred. 
Again,  in  the  great  steel  strike  of  190 1,  when  the  Amalgamated 
Association  of  Iron,  Steel,  and  Tin  Workers  thought  that  by 
a  general  strike,  sympathetic  in  its  nature  in  a  sense,  they 
would  be  able  to  win  against  the  powerful  United  States  Steel 
Corporation,  the  executive  committee  of  the  American  Federa- 
tion of  Labor  declined  to  advise  a  general  strike.  In  all  proba- 
bility this  action  had  as  much  to  do  with  bringing  the  strike 
to  an  end  as  any  one  element. 

Of  course,  organized  labor  has  received  many  very  severe 
blows.  The  rapid  decrease  in  membership  and  influence  of 
the  Amalgamated  Association  of  Iron  and  Steel  Workers  on 
account  of  the  disorders  at  Homestead  in  1892  is  a  very  striking 
instance  in  this  direction.  The  same  association  lost,  in  a  way, 
again  in  1901,  but  on  the  whole  it  has  been  progressive,  and  now, 
by  wise  management,  its  position  since  the  strike  is  encouraging. 
Unions  come  and  unions  go,  but  the  most  powerful  and  influen- 
tial have  a  long  and  honorable  history,  although  conservatism 
and  wise  action  have  often  been  the  result  of  radical,  extreme, 
and  dangerous  methods. 

XXVIII  [  12  ] 


THE  TOILERS 

Probably  the  best  known,  and  in  a  popular  sense  the  wisest, 
union  in  the  country  is  the  Brotherhood  of  Eocomotive  Engineers. 
This  organization  has  exerted  a  sure  and  steadying  influence  in 
various  controversies.  Its  members  are  called  by  the  members 
of  other  unions  the  aristocracy  of  labor,  but  they  came  to  their 
present  enviable  position  through  some  of  the  extremest  efforts 
to  carry  their  points  that  have  been  made  in  this  countr}\  Their 
wisdom  is  the  wisdom  of  experience,  and  the  managers  of  the 
brotherhood  have  been  wise  enough  to  recognize  experience. 
Other  organizations  are  benefiting  by  such  experience,  and  as 
time  goes  on  they  will  exert  a  still  greater  influence  in  the  in- 
dustrial field.  Unions  are,  as  a  rule,  friendly  to  machinery, 
studying  practical,  economic  questions,  and  arc  not  drags 
upon  industry.  The  exceptions  to  this  rule  are  now  so  few  that 
they  need  not  be  considered. 

When  the  greatest  capitaHsts  of  the  country  are  ready  to 
recognize  and  deal  with  unions,  and  to  advocate  the  advantages, 
through  conciliatory  methods,  which  can  come  only  through 
organizations,  and  to  meet  the  leaders  of  labor  unions  in  great 
conferences,  as  they  have  done  recently,  for  the  discussion  of 
vital  economic  and  moral  questions,  there  need  not  be  much 
fear  of  antagonism.'  The  old  suspicious  attitude  toward 
trade  unions  in  the  United  States  is  practically  a  thing  of  the 
past. 


xxvirr  [  13  ] 


XXIX 

the' SOIL 

''LAND  AND  ITS  OWNERSHIP  IN  THE  PAST" 

BY 

ALFRED  RUSSEL  WALLACE 

PRESIDENT  OF    THE   LAND    NATURALIZATION    SOCIETY 


CTHAT  the  twentieth  century  will  see  radical  changes  in 
-^  our  social  order  every  thoughtful  man  agrees.  How 
these  changes  are  to  he  accomplished,  whether  slowly  and  care- 
fully under  the  guidance  of  accepted  and  jar-seeing  leaders,  or 
suddenly  and  tumultuously  U7ider  pressure  of  bursting  bonds,  that 
no  man  can  say  with  surety.  Poiuerful  interests  oppose  themselves 
to  hard  necessities. 

Close  allied  with  the  question  of  the  future  of  labor  is  the 
question  of  the  future  of  land.  Henry  George  eloquently  preached 
to  us  the  ^^ single  tax^^  which  should  make  the  land,  the  soil 
itself,  pay  for  everything.  Somewhat  in  harmony  with  these 
views  are  those  of  Mr.  Wallace,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.,  whose  age 
and  whose  high  reputation  as  being,  with  Darwin,  the  codis- 
coverer  of  evolution,  lend  value  to  his  every  utterance.  Such 
a  man  does  not  speak  heedlessly,  and  when  even  Mr.  Wallace 
declares  that  there  is  something  radically  wrong  with  our  social 
order,  that  justice  demands  and  will  ultimately  enforce  a  readjust- 
ment of  all  our  conceptions  of  property,  surely  it  is  time  that 
we  take  thought. 

During  many  past  centuries  of  oppression  and  wrong 
there  has  been  an  ever-present  but  rarely  expressed  cry  for 
redress,  for  some  small  instalment  of  justice  to  the  down- 
trodden workers.  It  has  been  the  aspiration  alike  of  the 
peasant  and  the  philosopher,  of  the  poet  and  the  saint.  But 
the  rule  of  the  lords  of  the  soil  has  ever  been  so  hard,  and 

XXIX  [  I  ] 


THE  SOIL 

supported  by  power  so  overwhelming  and  punishment  so 
severe,  that  the  born  thralls  or  serfs  have  rarely  dared  to  do 
more  than  humbly  petition  for  some  partial  relief ;  or,  if  roused 
to  rebel  by  unbearable  misery  and  wrongs,  they  have  soon 
been  crushed  by  the  power  of  mailed  knights  and  armed  re- 
tainers. The  peasant  revolt  at  the  end  of  the  fourteenth 
century  was  to  gain  relief  from  the  oppressive  serfdom  that 
was  enforced  after  the  black  death  had  diminished  the  number 
of  workers.  John  Ball  then  preached  socialism  for  the  first 
time. 

"By  what  right,"  he  said,  "are  they  whom  we  call  lords 
greater  folk  than  we  ?  Why  do  they  hold  us  in  serfage  ?  .  .  . 
They  are  clothed  in  velvet,  while  we  are  covered  with  rags.  They 
have  wine  and  spices  and  fair  bread ;  and  we  oat-cake  and  straw, 
and  water  to  drink.  They  have  leisure  and  fine  houses;  we 
have  pain  and  labor,  the  rain  and  the  wind  in  the  fields.  And 
yet  it  is  of  us  and  our  toil  that  these  men  hold  their  state." 

John  Ball  and  Wat  Tyler  lived  five  hundred  years  too  soon. 
To-day  the  very  same  claims  are  made  by  men  w^ho,  having 
got  political  power,  cannot  be  so  easily  suppressed. 

A  century  passed,  and  the  great  martyr  of  freedom.  Sir 
Thomas  More,  powerfully  set  forth  the  wrongs  of  the  workers 
and  the  crimes  of  their  rulers  in  his  ever-memorable  "  Utopia." 
Near  the  end  of  this  work  he  thus  summarizes  the  governments 
of  his  time  in  words  that  will  apply  almost,  if  not  quite,  as 
accurately  to-day: 

"Is  not  that  government  both  unjust  and  ungrateful  that 
is  so  prodigal  of  its  favors  to  those  that  are  called  gentlemen,  or 
such  others  who  are  idle,  or  live  either  by  flattery  or  by  contriv- 
ing the  arts  of  vain  pleasure,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  takes 
no  care  of  those  of  a  meaner  sort,  such  as  ploughmen,  colliers, 
and  smiths,  without  whom  we  could  not  subsist?  But  after 
the  public  has  reaped  all  the  advantage  of  their  service  and  they 
come  to  be  oppressed  with  age,  sickness,  and  want,  all  their 
labors  and  the  good  they  have  done  is  forgotten,  and  all  the 
recompense  given  them  is  that  they  are  left  to  die  in  great  misery. 
The  richer  sort  are  often  endeavoring  to  bring  the  hire  of  labor- 
ers lower — not  only  by  their  fraudulent  practices,  but  by  the 
XXIX  [  2  ] 


THE  SOIL 

laws  which  they  procure  to  be  made  to  that  effect ;  so  that  though 
it  is  a  thing  most  unjust  in  itself  to  give  such  small  rewards 
to  those  who  deserve  so  well  of  the  public,  yet  they  have  given 
those  hardships  the  name  and  color  of  justice,  by  procuring 
laws  to  be  made  for  regulating  them. 

''Therefore  I  must  say  that,  as  I  hope  for  mercy,  I  can  have 
no  other  notion  of  all  the  governments  that  I  see  or  know  than 
that  they  are  a  conspiracy  of  the  rich,  who,  on  pretence  of 
managing  the  public,  only  pursue  their  private  ends,  and 
devise  all  the  ways  and  arts  they  can  find  out;  first,  that  they 
may,  without  danger,  preserve  all  that  they  have  so  ill  acquired, 
and  then  that  they  may  engage  the  poor  to  toil  and  labor  for 
them  at  as  low  rates  as  possible,  and  oppress  them  as  much  as 
they  please."^ 

Here  we  have  a  stern  demand  for  justice  to  the  workers 
who  produce  all  the  wealth  of  the  rich,  as  clearly  and  as  forcibly 
expressed  as  by  any  of  our  modern  socialists.  Sir  Thomas 
More  might,  in  fact,  be  well  taken  as  the  hero  and  patron 
saint  of  socialism. 

A  century  passed  away  before  Bacon  in  England,  and 
Campanelli  in  Italy,  again  set  forth  schemes  of  social  regenera- 
tion. Bacon's  *'  New  Atalantis  "  supposed  that  the  desired  im- 
provement would  come  from  man's  increased  command  over  the 
powers  of  nature,  which  would  give  wealth  enough  for  all. 
We  have,  however,  obtained  this  com.mand  to  a  far  greater 
extent  than  Bacon  could  possibly  have  anticipated;  yet  its 
chief  social  effect  has  been  the  increase  of  luxury  and  the  widen- 
ing of  the  gulf  between  rich  and  poor.  Although  material 
weahh,  reckoned  not  in  money  but  in  things,  has  increased 
perhaps  twenty  or  thirty  fold  in  the  last  century,  while  the 
population  has  little  more  than  doubled,  yet  millions  of  our 
people  still  live  in  the  most  wretched  penury,  the  whole  vast 
increase  of  wealth  having  gone  to  increase  the  luxury  and 
waste  of  the  rich  and  the  comfort  of  the  middle  classes. 

CampanelU,  more  far-sighted  than  Bacon,  saw  the  need  of 
social  justice  as  well  as  increased  knowledge,  and  proposed 
a  system  of  refined  communism.     But  all  these  ideas  were 
1  Cassell's  National  Library,  Utopia,  p.  1 7 
XXIX  [  3  ] 


THE  SOIL 

but  as  dreams  of  a  golden  age,  and  had  no  influence  whatever 
in  ameUorating  the  condition  of  the  workers,  which,  with  minor 
fluctuations,  and  having  due  regard  to  the  progress  of  material 
civilization,  may  be  said  to  have  remained  practically  unchanged 
for  the  last  three  centuries.  When  one-fourth  of  ah  the  deaths 
in  London  occur  in  workhouses  and  hospitals,  notwithstanding 
that  four  millions  are  spent  there  annually  in  public  charity, 
while  untold  thousands  die  in  their  wretched  cellars  and  attics 
from  the  direct  or  indirect  effects  of  starvation,  cold,  and 
unhealthy  surroundings;  and  while  all  these  terrible  facts 
are  repeated  proportionately  in  all  our  great  manufacturing 
towns,  it  is  simply  impossible  that,  within  the  time  I  have 
mentioned,  the  condition  of  the  workers  as  a  whole  can  have 
been  much,  if  any,  worse  than  it  is  now. 

At  the  end  of  the  seventeenth,  and  during  the  eighteenth 
century,  a  new  school  of  reformers  arose,  of  whom  Locke, 
Rousseau,  and  Turgot  were  representatives.  They  saw  the 
necessity  of  a  fundamental  justice,  especially  as  regards  land, 
the  source  of  all  wealth.  Locke  declared  that  labor  gave  the 
only  just  title  to  land;  while  Rousseau  was  the  author  of  the 
maxim  that  the  produce  of  the  land  belongs  to  all  men,  the 
land  itself  to  no  one.  The  first  Englishman,  however,  who  saw 
clearly  the  vast  importance  of  the  land  question,  and  who 
laid  down  those  principles  with  regard  to  it  which  are  now 
becoming  widely  accepted,  was  an  obscure  Newcastle  school- 
master, Thomas  Spence,  who  in  1775  gave  k  lecture  before  the 
Philosophical  Society  of  that  town,  which  was  so  much  in 
advance  of  the  age  that  when  he  printed  his  lecture  the  society 
expelled  him,  and  he  was  soon  afterward  obliged  to  leave  the 
town.  He  maintained  the  sound  doctrine  that  the  land  of  any 
country  or  district  justly  belongs  to  those  who  live  upon  it, 
not  to  any  individuals  to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest;  and  he 
points  out,  as  did  Herbert  Spencer  at  a  later  period,  the  logical 
result  of  admitting  private  property  in  land.     He  says: 

"And  any  one  of  them  (the  landlords)  still  can,  by  laws 

of  their  own  making,  obHge  every  Hving  creature  to  remove 

off  his  property  (which,  to  the  great  distress  of  mankind,  is 

too  often  put  in  execution);    so,  of  consequence,  were  all  the 

XXIX  [  4  ] 


THE  SOIL 

landholders  to  be  of  one  mind,  and  determined  to  take  their 
properties  into  their  own  hands,  all  the  rest  of  mankind  might 
go  to  heaven  if  they  could,  for  there  would  be  no  place  found 
for  them  here.  Thus  men  may  not  live  in  any  part  of  this 
world,  not  even  where  they  are  born,  but  as  strangers, 
and  by  the  permission  of  the  pretender  to  the  property 
thereof." 

He  maintained  that  every  parish  should  have  possession  of  its 
own  land,  to  be  let  out  to  the  inhabitants,  and  that  each  parish 
should  govern  itself  and  be  interfered  with  as  little  as  possible 
by  the  central  government,  thus  anticipating  the  views  as  to 
local  self-government  which  we  are  now  beginning  to  put 
into  practice. 

A  few  years  later,  in  1782,  Professor  Ogilvie  published 
anonymously  "  An  Essay  on  the  Right  of  Property  in  Land, 
with  respect  to  its  foundation  in  the  Law  of  Nature,  its  present 
establishment  by  the  Municipal  Laws  of  Europe,  and  the  Regu- 
lations by  which  it  might  be  rendered  more  beneficial  to  the 
lower  Ranks  of  Mankind."  This  small  work  contains  an 
elaborate  and  well-reasoned  exposition  of  the  whole  land  ques- 
tion, anticipating  the  arguments  of  Herbert  Spencer  in  ''Social 
Statics,"  of  Mill,  and  of  the  most  advanced  modern  land  re- 
formers. But  all  these  ideas  were  before  their  time,  and  pro- 
duced little  or  no  effect  on  public  opinion.  The  workers  were 
too  ignorant,  too  much  oppressed  by  the  struggle  for  bare  ex- 
istence, while  the  middle  classes  were  too  short-sighted  to  be 
influenced  by  theoretical  views  which  even  to  this  day  many  of 
the  most  liberal  thinkers  seem  unable  fully  to  appreciate.  But 
the  chief  cause  that  prevented  the  development  of  sound  views 
on  the  vital  problems  of  the  land  and  of  social  justice  was, 
undoubtedly,  that  men's  minds  were  forcibly  directed  toward 
the  great  struggles  for  political  freedom  then  in  progress.  The 
success  of  the  American  revolutionists  and  the  estabUshment 
of  a  repubhc  founded  on  a  Declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man, 
followed  by  the  great  French  Revolution  and  the  Napoleonic 
wars,  entirly  obscured  all  lesser  questions,  and  also  led  to  a 
temporary  and  fictitious  prosperity,  founded  on  a  gigantic  debt 
the  burden  of  which  still  oppresses  us.  These  great  events 
XXIX  [  5  ] 


THE  SOIL 

irresistibly  led  to  the  discussion  of  questions  of  political  and 
personal  freedom  rather  than  to  those  deeper  problems  of  social 
justice  of  which  we  are  now  only  beginning  to  perceive  the 
full  importance.  The  rapid  growth  of  the  use  of  steam  power, 
the  vast  extension  of  our  manufactures,  and  the  rise  of  our 
factory  system  with  its  attendant  horrors  of  woman  and  infant 
labor,  crowded  populations,  spread  of  disease,  and  increase  of 
mortality,  loudly  cried  for  palliation  and  restrictive  legislation, 
and  thus  occupied  much  of  the  attention  of  philanthropists 
and  politicians. 

CHARACTER  OF   NINETEENTH-CENTURY    LEGISLATION 

Owing  to  this  combination  of  events,  the  nineteenth  century 
has  been  almost  wholly  devoted  to  two  classes  of  legislation — 
the  one  directed  to  reform  and  popularize  the  machinery  of 
government  itself,  the  other  to  neutralize  or  palliate  the  evils 
arising  from  the  unchecked  powers  of  landlords  and  capitalists 
in  their  continual  efforts  to  increase  their  wealth  while  almost 
wholly  regardless  of  the  hfe-shortening  labor,  the  insanitary 
surroundings,  and  the  hopeless  misery  of  the  great  body  of 
the  workers.  To  the  first  class  belong  the  successive  Reform 
Bills,  the  adoption  of  the  ballot  in  elections  for  members  of 
Parliament,  household  and  lodger  suffrage,  improved  regis- 
tration, and  the  repression  of  bribery.  To  the  second,  restric- 
tion of  children's  and  women's  labor  in  factories  and  mines, 
government  inspection  of  these  industries ;  attempts  to  diminish 
the  dangers  of  unhealthy  employments,  and  to  check  the  ever- 
increasing  pollution  of  rivers;  the  new  poor  law,  casual  wards, 
and  other  attempts  to  cope  with  pauperism;  while  various 
fiscal  reforms,  such  as  the  abolition  of  the  corn  laws  and  the 
extension  of  free  trade,  though  advocated  in  the  supposed  inter- 
est of  the  wage  earners,  were  really  carried  by  the  efforts  of 
great  capitalists  and  manufacturers  as  a  means  of  extending 
their  foreign  trade.  Later  on  came  the  Elementary  Education 
Act  of  1870,  which  was  thought  by  many  to  be  the  crowning 
of  the  edifice,  and  to  complete  all  that  could  be  done  by  legis- 
lation to  bring  about  the  well-being  of  the  workers,  and,  through 
them,  of  the  whole  community. 
XXIX  [  6  ] 


THE  SOIL 

ITS  OUTCOME 

Now  that  we  have  had  nearly  a  century  of  the  two  classes 
of  legislation  here  referred  to,  it  may  be  well  briefly  to  take 
stock  of  its  general  outcome,  and  sec  how  far  it  has  secured — 
what  all  such  legislation  aims  at  securing — a  fair  share  to  all 
the  workers  of  the  mass  of  wealth  they  annually  produce;  a 
sufficiency  of  food,  clothing,  houscroom,  and  fuel;  healthy 
surroundings;  and  some  amount  of  leisure  and  surplus  means 
for  the  lesser  enjoyments  of  hfe.  And  it  must  be  remembered 
that  never  in  the  whole  course  of  human  history  has  there 
been  a  century  which  has  added  so  much  to  man's  command 
over  the  forces  of  nature,  and  which  has  so  enormously  extended 
his  power  of  creating  and  distributing  all  forms  of  wealth. 
Steam,  gas,  photography,  and  electricity,  in  all  their  endless 
applications,  have  given  us  almost  unlimited  power  to  obtain 
all  necessaries,  comforts,  and  luxuries  that  the  world  can  supply 
us  with.  It  has  been  calculated  that  the  labor-saving  machinery 
of  all  kinds  now  in  use  produces  about  a  hundred  times  the 
result  that  could  be  produced  if  our  workers  had  only  the  tools 
and  appliances  available  a  century  ago.  But  even  in  the  last 
century,  not  only  was  there  produced  a  sufficiency  of  food, 
clothing,  and  houses  for  all  workers,  but  an  enormous  surplus, 
which  was  appropriated  by  the  landlords  and  other  capitaHsts 
for  their  own  consumption,  while  large  numbers,  then  as  now, 
were  unprofitably  employed  in  ministering  to  the  luxury  of 
the  rich,  or  wastef ully  and  wickedly  employed  in  destroying  life 
and  property  in  civil  or  foreign  wars. 

Taking  first  the  anti-capitalistic  or  social  legislation,  we 
find  that,  though  the  horrible  destruction  of  the  health,  the 
happiness,  and  the  very  lives  of  factory  children  has  been 
largely  reduced,  there  has  grown  up  in  our  great  cities  a  system 
of  child  labor  as  cruel  and  destructive,  if  not  quite  so  extensive. 
Infants  of  four  years  and  upward  are  employed  at  matchbox 
making  and  similar  employments  to  assist  in  supporting  the 
family.  A  widow  and  two  children,  working  all  day  and  much 
of  the  night,  can  only  earn  a  shilling  or  eighteenpence  from  which 
to  pay  rent  and  support  hfe.  Children  of  school  age  have  thus 
often  to  work  till  midnight  after  having  had  five  hours'  school- 
XXIX  [  7  ] 


THE   SOIL 

ing ;  and  till  quite  recently  a  poor  mother  in  this  state  of  penury- 
was  fined  if  she  did  not  send  the  children  to  school  and  pay 
a  penny  daily  for  each,  meaning  so  much  less  bread  for  herself 
or  for  the  children.  Of  course  for  the  children  this  is  physical 
and  mental  destruction.  The  number  of  women  thus  struggling 
for  a  most  miserable  living — often  a  mere  prolonged  starvation 
— is  certainly  greater  than  at  any  previous  period  of  our  history, 
and  even  if  the  proportion  of  the  population  thus  employed 
is  somewhat  less — and  this  is  doubtful — the  fact  that  the  actual 
mass  of  human  misery  and  degradation  of  this  kind  is  abso- 
lutely greater  is  a  horrible  result  of  a  century's  remedial  legis- 
lation, together  with  an  increase  of  national  wealth  altogether 
unprecedented. 

Again  if  we  turn  to  the  amount  of  poverty  and  pauperism 
as  a  measure  of  the  success  of  remedial  legislation  combined 
with  a  vast  extension  of  private  and  systematized  charity, 
we  shall  have  cause  for  still  more  serious  reflection.  In  1888  the 
Registrar-General  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  both  through- 
out the  country  and  to  a  still  greater  extent  in  London  deaths 
in  workhouses,  hospitals,  and  other  public  charitable  insti- 
tutions had  been  steadily  increasing  since  1875.  A  reference 
to  the  Annual  Summaries  of  deaths  in  London  shows  the  in- 
crease to  have  been  continuous  from  i860  to  1895,  the  five- 
year  periods  giving  the  following  results: 

In  1860-65  of  total  deaths  in  London,  16.2  per  cent,  occurred  in 

charitable  institutions. 
1866-70  (no  material  at  hand). 
1871-75  of  total  deaths  in  London,  17.4  " 

1876-80  "  "  18.6 

1881-85  "  "  21. I 

1886-90  "  "  23.4 

1891-95  "  "  26.7 

When  we  add  to  this  the  admitted  facts,  that  organized 
charity  greatly  increased  during  the  same  period,  while  the  press 
still  teems  with  records  of  the  most  terrible  destitution,  of 
.uicides  from  the  dread  of  starvation,  and  deaths  directly 
caused  or  indirectly  due  to  want,  we  are  brought  face  to  face 
XXIX  [  8  ] 


THE  SOIL 

with  a  mass  of  human  wretchedness  that  is  absolutely  appalling 
in  its  magnitude.  And  all  this  time  Royal  and  Parliamentary 
Commissions  have  been  inquiring  and  reporting,  Mansion 
House  and  other  committees  have  been  collecting  funds  and 
relieving  distress  at  every  exceptional  period  of  trouble,  emigra- 
tion has  been  actively  at  work,  improved  dwellings  have  been 
provided,  and  education  has  been  systematically  urged  on,  with 
the  final  result  that  one-fourth  of  all  the  deaths  in  the  richest 
city  in  the  world  occur  in  workhouses,  hospitals,  etc.,  and,  in 
addition,  unknown  thousands  die  in  their  miserable  garrets 
and  cellars  from  various  forms  of  slow  or  rapid  starvation. 

Can  a  state  of  society  which  leads  to  this  result  be  called 
civihzation?  Can  a  government  which,  after  a  century  of 
continuous  reforms  and  gigantic  labors  and  struggles,  is  unable 
to  organize  society  so  that  every  willing  worker  may  earn  a 
decent  living  be  called  a  successful  government  ?  Is  it  beyond 
the  wit  of  man  to  save  a  large  proportion  of  one  of  the  most 
industrious  peoples  in  the  world,  inhabiting  a  rich  and  fertile 
country,  from  grinding  poverty  or  absolute  starvation?  Is  it 
impossible  so  to  arrange  matters  that  a  sufficient  portion  of  the 
wealth  they  create  may  be  retained  by  the  workers,  even  if 
the  idle  rich  have  a  little  less  of  profuse  and  wasteful  luxury  ? 

THE  IMPOTENCE  OF  OUR  LEGISLATORS 

Our  legislators,  our  economists,  our  religious  teachers, 
almost  with  one  voice  tell  the  people  that  any  better  organiza- 
tion of  society  than  that  which  we  now  possess  is  impossible. 
That  we  must  go  on  as  we  have  been  going  on,  patching  here, 
altering  there,  now  mitigating  the  severity  of  a  distressing  symp- 
tom, now  slightly  clipping  the  wings  of  the  landlord,  the  capi- 
talist, or  the  sweater;  but  never  going  down  to  the  root  of  the 
evil;  never  interfering  with  vested  interests  in  ancestral  wrong; 
never  daring  to  do  anything  which  shall  diminish  rent  and  in- 
terest and  profit,  and  to  the  same  extent  increase  the  reward  of 
labor;  never  seek  out  the  fundamental  injustice  which  de- 
prives men  of  their  birthright  in  their  native  land,  and  enables 
a  small  number  of  landlords  to  tax  the  rest  of  the  community 
to  the  amount  of  hundreds  of  millions  for  permission  to  culti- 
XXIX  [  9  ] 


THE   SOIL 

vate  and  live  upon  the  soil  in  the  country  of  their  birth.  Can 
we,  then,  wonder  that  both  workers  and  thinkers  are  getting 
tired  of  all  this  hopeless  incapacity  in  their  rulers?  That, 
possessing  education  which  has  made  them  acquainted  with  the 
works  of  great  writers  on  these  matters,  from  Sir  Thomas  More 
to  Robert  Owen,  from  Henry  George  to  Edward  Bellamy, 
from  Karl  Marx  to  Carlyle  and  Ruskin;  and  possessing  as 
they  do  ability,  and  honesty,  and  determination,  fully  equal 
to  that  of  the  coterie  of  landlords  and  capitahsts  which  has 
hitherto  governed  them,  they  are  determined,  as  soon  as  may  be, 
to  govern  themselves. 

THE   WORK  OF  THE  TWENTIETH   CENTURY 

Now,  I  believe  that  the  great  work  of  the  past  century, 
that  which  is  the  true  preparation  for  the  work  to  be  done 
in  the  twentieth  century,  is  not  its  well-meant  and  temporarily 
useful  but  petty  and  tentative  social  legislation,  but  rather 
that  gradual  reform  of  the  political  machine — to  be  completed, 
it  is  to  be  hoped,  within  the  next  few  years — which  will  enable 
the  most  thoughtful  and  able  and  honest  among  the  manual 
workers  to  at  once  turn  the  balance  of  poHtical  power,  and, 
at  no  distant  period,  to  become  the  real  and  permanent  rulers 
of  the  country.  The  very  idea  of  such  a  government  will  excite 
a  smile  of  derision  or  a  groan  of  horror  among  the  classes  who 
have  hitherto  blundered  and  plundered  at  their  will,  and  have 
thought  they  were  Heaven-inspired  rulers.  But  I  feel  sure  that 
the  workers  will  do  very  much  better;  and,  forming  as  they  do 
the  great  majority  of  the  people,  it  is  only  bare  justice  that, 
after  centuries  of  misgovernment  by  the  idle  and  wealthy, 
they  should  have  their  turn.  The  larger  part  of  the  invention 
that  has  enriched  the  country  has  come  from  the  workers; 
much  of  scientific  discovery  has  also  come  from  their  ranks; 
and  it  is  certain  that,  given  equahty  of  opportunity,  they  would 
fully  equal,  in  every  high  mental  and  moral  characteristic, 
the  bluest  blood  in  the  nation.  In  the  organization  of  their 
trades  unions  and  co-operative  societies,  no  less  than  in  their 
choice  of  the  small  body  of  their  fellow- workers  who  represent 
them  in  Parliament,  they  show  that  they  are  in  no  way  inferior 
XXIX  [  lo  ] 


THE   SOIL 

in  judgment  and  in  organizing  power  to  the  commercial,  the 
Uterary,  or  the  wealthy  classes.  The  way  in  which,  during  the 
past  few  years,  they  have  forced  their  very  moderate  claims 
upon  the  notice  of  the  public,  have  secured  advocates  in  the 
press  and  in  Parliament,  and  have  led  both  political  econo- 
mists and  politicians  to  accept  measures  which  wTre  not  long 
before  scouted  as  utterly  beyond  the  sphere  of  practical  politics, 
shows  that  they  have  already  become  a  power  in  the  state. 
Looking  forward,  then,  to  a  government  by  workers  and  largely 
in  the  interest  of  workers,  at  a  not  distant  date,  I  propose 
to  set  forth  a  few  principles  and  suggestions  as  to  the  course 
of  legislation  calculated  to  abolish  pauperism,  poverty,  and 
enforced  idleness,  and  thus  lay  the  foundation  for  a  true  civiliza- 
tion which  will  be  benelicial  to  all. 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  REAL  REFORMS   - 

That  the  ownership  of  large  estates  in  land  by  private 
individuals  is  an  injustice  to  the  workers  and  the  source  of 
much  of  their  poverty  and  misery,  is  held  by  all  the  great  writers 
I  have  alluded  to,  and  has  been  fully  demonstrated  in  many 
volumes.  It  has  led  directly  to  the  depopulation  of  the  rural 
districts,  the  abnormal  growth  of  great  cities,  the  diminished 
cultivation  of  the  soil  and  reduced  food  supply,  and  is  thus 
at  once  a  social  evil  and  a  national  danger.  Some  petty  at- 
tempts are  now  making  to  restore  the  people  to  the  land,  but 
in  a  very  imperfect  manner.  The  first  and  highest  use  of  our 
land  is  to  provide  healthy  and  happy  homes,  where  all  who 
desire  it  may  live  in  permanent  security  and  produce  a  consider- 
able portion  of  the  food  required  by  their  families.  Every 
other  consideration  must  give  way  to  this  one,  and  all  restric- 
tions on  its  realization  must  be  aboHshed.  Hence,  the  first 
work  of  the  people's  Parliament  should  be  to  give  to  the  Parish 
and  District  Councils  unrestricted  power  to  take  all  land 
necessary  for  this  purpose,  so  as  to  afford  every  citizen  the 
freest  possible  choice  of  a  home  in  which  he  can  live  absolutely 
secure  (so  long  as  he  pays  the  very  moderate  ground  rent) 
and  reap  the  full  reward  of  his  labor.  Every  man,  in  his  turn, 
should  be  able  to  choose  both  where  he  will  live  and  how 

XXIX  [  II  ] 


THE   SOIL 

much  land  he  desires  to  have,  since  each  one  is  the  best  judge 
of  how  much  he  can  enjoy  and  make  profitable.  Our  object 
is  that  all  workingmen  should  succeed  in  life,  should  be  able 
to  live  well  and  happily,  and  provide  for  an  old  age  of  comfort 
and  repose.  Every  such  landholder  is  a  gain  and  a  safety 
instead  of  a  loss  and  a  danger  to  the  community,  and  no  out- 
cry, either  of  existing  landlords  or  of  tenants  of  large  farms, 
must  be  allowed  to  stand  in  their  way.  The  well-being  of  the 
community  is  the  highest  law,  and  no  private  interests  can  be 
permitted  to  prevent  its  realization.  When  land  can  be  thus 
obtained,  co-operative  communities,  on  the  plan  so  clearly 
laid  down  by  Mr.  Herbert  V.  Mills  in  his  work  on  "  Poverty 
and  the  State "  may  also  be  established,  and  various  forms  of 
co-operative  manufacture  can  be  tried. 

THE  INVIOLABILITY  OF  THE  HOME 

But  until  this  great  reform  can  be  effected  there  is  a  smaller 
and  less  radical  measure  of  relief  to  all  tenants,  which  should 
at  once  be  advocated  and  adopted  by  the  Liberal  party.  It 
is  an  old  boast  that  the  Englishman's  house  is  his  castle,  but 
never  was  a  boast  less  justified  by  facts.  In  a  large  number 
of  cases  a  workingman's  house  might  be  better  described  as 
an  instrument  of  torture,  by  means  of  which  he  can  be  forced 
to  comply  with  his  landlord's  demands,  and  both  in  religion  and 
politics  submit  himself  entirely  to  the  landlord's  will.  So  long 
as  the  agricultural  laborer,  the  village  mechanic,  and  the  village 
shopkeeper  are  the  tenants  of  the  landowner,  the  parson,  or 
the  farmer,  religious  freedom  or  political  independence  is 
impossible.  And  when  those  employed  in  factories  or  work- 
shops are  obliged  to  live,  as  they  so  often  are,  in  houses  which 
are  the  property  of  their  employers,  that  employer  can  force  his 
will  upon  them  by  the  double  threat  of  loss  of  employment 
and  loss  of  a  home.  Under  such  conditions  a  man  possesses 
neither  freedom  nor  safety,  nor  the  possibility  of  happiness, 
except  so  far  as  his  landlord  and  employer  thinks  proper.  A 
secure  Home  is  the  very  first  essential  alike  of  poHtical  freedom, 
of  personal  security,  and  of  social  well-being. 

Now  that  every  worker,  even  to  the  hitherto  despised  and 

XXIX  [  12  ] 


THE   SOIL 

down- trodden  agricultural  laborer,  has  been  given  a  share 
in  local  self-government,  it  is  time  that,  so  far  as  affects  the  in- 
violability of  the  home,  the  landlord's  power  should  be  at  once 
taken  away  from  him.  This  is  the  logical  sequence  of  the  crea- 
tion of  Parish  Councils.  For  to  declare  that  it  is  for  the  public 
benefit  that  every  inhabitant  of  a  parish  shall  be  free  to  vote 
and  to  be  chosen  as  a  representative  by  his  fellow- parishioners, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  leave  him  at  the  mercy  of  the  individual 
'who  owns  his  house  to  punish  him  in  a  most  cruel  manner 
for  using  the  privileges  thus  granted  him,  is  surely  the  height 
of  unreason  and  injustice.  It  is  giving  a  stone  in  place  of 
bread;  the  shadow  rather  than  the  substance  of  political 
enfranchisement. 

There  is,  however,  a  very  simple  and  effectual  way  of 
rendering  tenants  secure,  and  that  is  by  a  short  Act  of  Par- 
liament declaring  all  evictions,  or  seizure  of  household  goods, 
other  than  for  non-payment  of  rent,  to  be  illegal.  And  to 
prevent  the  landlord  from  driving  away  a  tenant  by  raising 
his  rent  to  an  impossible  amount,  all  alterations  of  rent  must 
be  approved  of  as  reasonable  by  a  committee  of  the  Parish  or 
District  Council,  and  be  determined  on  the  apphcation  of  either 
the  tenant  or  the  landlord.  Of  course,  at  the  first  letting  of  a 
house  the  landlord  could  ask  what  rent  he  pleased,  and  if  it 
was  exorbitant  he  would  get  no  tenant.  But,  having  once  let  it, 
the  tenant  should  be  secure  as  long  as  he  wished  to  occupy  it, 
and  the  rent  should  not  be  raised  except  as  allowed  by  some  com- 
petent tribunal.  No  doubt  a  claim  will  be  made  on  behalf  of 
the  landlords  for  a  compulsory,  not  voluntary,  tenancy  on  the 
part  of  the  tenant;  that  is,  that  if  the  tenant  has  security  of 
occupation,  the  landlord  should  have  equal  security  of  having 
a  tenant.  But  the  two  cases  are  totally  different.  Eviction 
from  his  home  may  be,  and  often  is,  ruinous  loss  and  misery 
to  the  tenant,  who  is  therefore,  to  avoid  such  loss,  often  com- 
pelled to  submit  to  the  landlord's  will.  But  who  ever  heard 
of  a  tenant,  by  the  threat  of  giving  notice  to  quit,  compelling 
his  landlord  to  vote  against  his  conscience,  or  to  go  to  chapel 
instead  of  to  church  ?  The  tenant  needs  protection,  the  land- 
lord does  not. 

XXIX  [  13  ] 


THE   SOIL 

The  same  result  might  perhaps  be  gained  by  giving  the 
Parish  and  District  Councils  power  to  take  over  all  houses 
whose  tenants  are  threatened  with  eviction,  or  with  an  unfair 
increase  of  rent ;  but  this  would  involve  so  many  complications 
and  would  so  burden  these  Councils  with  new  and  responsible 
work,  that  there  is  no  chance  of  its  being  enacted  for  many 
years.  But  the  plan  of  giving  a  legal  permanent  tenure  to  every 
tenant  is  so  simple,  so  obviously  reasonable,  and  so  free  from 
all  interference  with  the  fair  money  value  of  the  landlord's 
property,  that,  with  a  little  energy  and  persistent  agitation, 
it  might  possibly  be  carried  in  two  or  three  years.  Such  an 
Act  might  be  more  or  less  in  the  following  form : 

"Whereas  the  security  and  inviolabihty  of  the  Home  is  an 
essential  condition  of  poHtical  freedom  and  social  well-being, 
it  is  hereby  enacted  that  no  tenant  shall  hereafter  be  evicted 
from  his  house  or  homestead,  or  have  his  household  goods 
seized,  for  any  other  cause  than  non-payment  of  rent,  and  every 
heir  or  successor  of  such  tenant  shall  be  equally  secure  so  long 
as  the  rent  is  paid." 

A  second  clause  would  provide  for  a  permanently  fair 
rent. 

Now,  will  not  some  advanced  Liberal  bring  in  such  a  bill 
annually  till  it  is  carried?  It  is,  I  think,  one  that  would  re- 
ceive the  support  of  a  large  number  of  reformers,  because  it 
is  absolutely  essential  to  the  free  and  fair  operation  of  the  Parish 
and  District  Councils,  and  is  equally  necessary  for  the  well- 
being  of  the  farmer  and  the  tradesman,  as  well  as  for  the 
mechanic  and  laborer.  The  annual  discussion  of  the  subject  in 
Parliament  would  be  of  inestimable  value,  since  it  would  afford 
the  opportunity  of  bringing  prominently  before  the  voters  the 
numerous  cases  of  gross  tyranny  and  cruel  injustice  which  are 
yearly  occurring,  but  which  now  receive  little  consideration. 

THE   UNBORN   NOT   TO   INHERIT   PROPERTY 

The  next  great  guiding  principle,  and  one  that  will  enable 
us  to  carry  out  the  resumption  of  the  land  without  real  injury 
to  any  individual,  is  that  we  should  recognize  no  rights  to  prop- 
erty in  the  unborn,  or  even  in  persons  under  legal  age,  except 
XXIX  [  14  ] 


THE   SOIL 

so  far  as  to  provide  for  their  education  and  give  them  a  suitable 
but  moderate  provision  against  want.  This  may  be  justified 
on  two  grounds.  First,  the  law  allows  to  individuals  the  right 
to  will  away  their  property  as  they  please,  so  that  not  even  the 
eldest  son  has  any  vested  interest,  as  against  the  power  of  the 
actual  owner  of  the  property  to  leave  it  to  whom  or  for  what 
purpose  he  likes.  Now,  what  an  individual  is  permitted  to 
do  for  individual  reasons  which  may  be  good  or  bad,  the  State 
may  do  if  it  considers  it  necessary  for  the  good  of  the  community. 
If  an  individual  may  justly  disinherit  other  individuals  who  have 
not  already  a  vested  interest  in  property,  however  just  may 
be  their  expectations  of  succeeding  to  it,  a  jortiori  the  State 
may,  partially,  disinherit  them  for  good  and  important  reasons. 
In  the  second  place,  it  is  almost  universally  admitted  by  moral- 
ists and  advanced  thinkers  that  to  be  the  heir  to  a  great  estate 
from  birth  is  generally  injurious  to  the  individual,  and  is  neces- 
sarily unjust  to  the  community.  It  enables  the  individual  to 
live  a  life  of  idleness  and  pleasure,  which  often  becomes  one 
of  luxury  and  vice;  while  the  community  suffers  from  the  bad 
example,  and  by  the  vicious  standard  of  happiness  which  is  set 
up  by  the  spectacle  of  so  much  idleness  and  luxury.  The 
v/orking  part  of  the  community,  on  the  other  hand,  suffers 
directly  in  having  to  provide  the  whole  of  the  wealth  thus 
injuriously  wasted.  Many  people  think  that  if  such  a  rich  man 
pays  for  everything  he  purchases  and  wastes,  the  workers  do 
do  not  suffer  because  they  receive  an  equivalent  for  their  labor , 
but  such  persons  overlook  the  fact  that  every  pound  spent  by 
the  idle  is  first  provided  hy  the  workers.  If  the  income  thus 
spent  is  derived  from  land,  it  is  they  who  really  pay  the  rents 
to  the  landlord,  inasmuch  as  if  the  landlord  did  not  receive 
them  they  would  go  in  reduction  of  taxation.  If  it  comes  from 
the  funds  or  from  railway  shares,  they  equally  provide  it,  in  the 
taxes,  in  high  railway  fares,  and  increased  price  of  goods 
due  to  exorbitant  railway  charges.  Even  if  all  taxes  were  raised 
by  an  income  tax  paid  by  rich  men  only,  the  workers  would  be 
the  real  payers,  because  there  is  no  other  possible  source  of 
annual  income  in  the  country  but  productive  labor.  If  any 
one  doubts  this,  let  him  consider  what  would  happen  were  'the 
XXIX  [15] 


THE   SOIL 

people  to  resume  the  land  as  their  right,  and  thenceforth  apply 
the  rents,  locally,  to  estabhsh  the  various  factories  and  other 
machinery  needful  to  supply  all  the  wants  of  the  community. 
Gradually  all  workers  would  be  employed  on  the  land,  or  in  the 
various  co-operative  or  municipal  industries,  and  would  them- 
selves receive  the  full  product  of  their  labors.  To  facilitate 
their  exchanges  they  might  establish  a  token  or  paper  currency, 
and  they  would  then  have  little  use  for  gold  or  silver.  How, 
then,  could  idlers  live,  if  these  workers,  in  the  Parliament  of 
the  country,  simply  declined  to  pay  the  interest  on  debts  con- 
tracted before  they  were  born?  What  good  would  be  their 
much  vaunted  "capital,"  consisting  as  it  mostly  does  of  mere 
legal  power  to  take  from  the  workers  a  portion  of  the  product 
of  their  labors,  which  power  w^ould  then  have  ceased;  while 
their  real  capital — buildings,  machinery,  etc. — would  bring 
them  not  one  penny,  since  the  workers  would  all  possess  their 
own,  purchased  by  their  own  labor  and  the  rents  of  their  own 
land?  Let  but  the  workers  resume  possession  of  the  soil, 
which  was  first  obtained  by  private  holders  by  force  or  fraud, 
or  by  the  gift  of  successive  kings  who  had  no  right  to  give  it, 
and  capitalists  as  a  distinct  class  from  workers  must  soon  cease 
to  exist. 

NO  RIGHT  TO  TAX  FUTURE  GENERATIONS 

Another  principle  of  equal  importance  is  to  refuse  to  recog- 
nize the  right  of  any  bygone  rulers  to  tax  future  generations. 
Thus,  all  grants  of  land  by  kings  or  nobles,  all  "perpetual'* 
pensions,  and  all  war  debts  of  the  past,  should  be  declared  to 
be  legally  and  equitably  invahd,  and  henceforth  dealt  with 
in  such  a  way  as  to  relieve  the  workers  of  the  burden  of  their 
payment  as  speedily  as  is  consistent  with  due  consideration 
for  those  whose  chief  support  is  derived  from  such  sources. 
Just  as  we  are  now  coming  to  recognize  that  a  "  living  wage  "  is 
due  to  all  workers,  so  we  should  recognize  a  "maximum  income  " 
determined  by  the  standard  of  comfort  of  the  various  classes 
of  fund  holders  and  State  or  family  pensioners.  As  a  rule, 
these  persons  might  be  left  to  enjoy  whatever  they  now  possess 
during  their  lives,  and  when  they  had  relatives  dependent  on 
XXIX  [  i6  ] 


THE  SOIL 

them  the  income  might  be  continued  to  these,  either  for  their 
lives  or  for  a  Hmited  period,  according  to  the  circumstances 
of  each  case.  There  would  be  no  necessity,  and  I  trust  no 
inclination,  to  cause  the  slightest  real  privation,  or  even  in- 
convenience, to  those  who  are  but  the  product  of  a  vicious 
system;  but  on  every  principle  of  justice  and  equity  it  is  im- 
possible to  recognize  the  rights  of  deceased  kings — most  of  them 
the  worst  and  most  contemptible  of  men — to  burden  the  work- 
ers for  all  time  in  order  to  keep  large  bodies  of  their  fellow- 
citizens  in  idleness  and  luxury. 

HOW  TO  DEAL   WITH  ACCUMULATED  WEALTH 

By  means  of  the  principles  now  laid  down,  we  can  see  how 
to  deal  fairly  with  the  present  possessors  of  great  estates,  and 
with  millionaires,  whose  vast  wealth  confers  no  real  benefit 
on  themselves,  while  it  necessarily  robs  the  workers,  since, 
as  we  have  seen,  it  has  all  to  be  provided  by  the  workers.  It 
will,  I  think,  be  admitted  that,  if  a  man  has  an  income,  say, 
of  ten  thousand  a  year,  that  is  sufficient  to  supply  him  with 
every  possible  necessary,  comfort,  and  rational  luxury,  and 
that  the  possession  of  one  or  more  additional  ten  thousands  of 
income  would  not  really  add  to  his  enjoyment.  But  all  such 
excessive  incomes  necessarily  produce  evil  results,  in  the  large 
number  of  idle  dependants  they  support,  and  in  keeping  up 
habits  of  gambling  and  excessive  luxury.  Further,  in  the  case 
of  landed  estates,  the  management  of  which  is  necessarily  left  to 
agents  and  baihffs,  it  leads  to  injurious  interference  with  agri- 
culture and  with  the  political  and  rchgious  freedom  of  tenants,  to 
oppression  of  laborers,  to  the  depopulation  of  villages,  and 
other  well-known  evils.  It  will  therefore  be  for  the  public  ben- 
efit to  fix  on  a  maximum  income  to  be  owned  by  any  citizen ; 
and,  thereupon,  to  arrange  a  progressive  income  tax,  beginning 
with  a  very  small  tax  on  a  minimum  income  from  land  or  realiz- 
ed property  of,  say,  £500,  the  tax  progressively  rising,  at  first 
slowly,  afterward  more  rapidly,  so  as  to  absorb  all  above  the 
fixed  maximum. 

When  a  landed  estate  was  taken  over  for  the  use  of  the 
community,  the  net  income  which  had  been  derived  from 
XXIX  [  17  ] 


THE  SOIL 

it  would  be  paid  the  late  holder  for  his  life,  and  might  be  con- 
tinued for  the  lives  of  such  of  his  direct  heirs  as  were  of  age  at 
the  time  of  passing  the  Act,  or  it  might  even  be  extended  to 
all  direct  heirs  living  at  that  time.  In  the  case  of  a  person  own- 
ing many  landed  estates  in  different  counties,  he  might  be  given 
the  option  of  retaining  any  one  or  more  of  them  up  to  the  max- 
imum income,  and  that  income  would  be  secured  to  him  (and 
his  direct  heirs  as  above  stated)  in  case  any  of  the  land  were 
taken  for  public  use.  In  the  case  of  fund -holders,  all  above  the 
maximum  income  would  be  extinguished,  and  thus  reduce 
taxation. 

The  process  here  sketched  out — by  which  the  continuous 
robbery  of  the  people  through  the  systems  of  land  and  fund 
holding  may  be  at  first  greatly  reduced  and  in  the  course  of 
one  or  two  generations  completely  stopped,  without,  as  I  main- 
tain, real  injury  to  any  Hving  person  and  for  the  great  benefit 
both  of  existing  workers  and  of  the  whole  nation  in  the  future — 
will,  of  course,  be  denounced  as  confiscation  and  robbery. 
That  is  the  point  of  view  of  those  who  now  benefit  by  the  acts 
of  former  robbers  and  confiscators.  From  another,  and  I 
maintain  a  truer  point  of  view,  it  may  be  described  as  an  act 
of  just  and  merciful  restitution.  Let  us,  therefore,  consider 
the  case  a  little  more  closely. 

ORIGIN    OF    GREAT    ESTATES. 

Taking  the  inherited  estates  of  the  great  landed  proprietors 
of  England,  almost  all  can  be  traced  back  to  some  act  of  con- 
fiscation of  former  owners  or  to  gifts  from  kings,  often  as  the 
reward  for  what  we  now  consider  to  be  disgraceful  services 
or  great  crimes.  The  whole  of  the  property  of  the  abbeys  and 
monasteries,  stolen  by  Henry  VIII.  and  mostly  given  to  the 
worst  characters  among  the  nobles  of  his  court,  was  really  a 
robbery  of  the  people,  who  obtained  relief  and  protection  from 
the  former  owners.  The  successive  steps  by  which  the  land- 
lords got  rid  of  the  duties  attached  to  landholding  under  the 
feudal  system,  and  threw  the  main  burden  of  defence  and  of 
the  cost  of  government  on  non-landholders,  was  another  direct 
robbery  of  the  people.  Then  in  later  times,  and  down  to 
XXIX  [  i8  ] 


THE  SOIL 

the  present  century,  we  have  that  barefaced  robbery  by  form 
of  law,  the  enclosure  of  the  commons,  leading,  perhaps  more 
than  anything  else,  to  the  misery  and  destruction  of  the  rural 
population.  Much  of  this  enclosure  was  made  by  means  of 
false  pretences.  The  general  Enclosure  Acts  declare  that  the 
purpose  of  enclosure  is  to  facilitate  "the  productive  employment 
of  labor"  in  the  improvement  of  the  land.  Yet  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  acres  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  especially  in 
Surrey,  Hampshire,  Dorsetshire,  and  other  southern  counties, 
wxre  simply  taken  from  the  people  and  divided  among  the  sur- 
rounding landlords,  and  then  only  used  for  sport,  not  a  single 
pound  being  spent  in  cukivating  it.  Now,  however,  during 
the  last  twenty  years,  much  of  this  land  is  being  sold  for  building 
at  high  building  prices,  a  purpose  never  contemplated  when  the 
Enclosure  Acts  were  obtained.  During  the  last  two  centuries 
more  than  seven  millions  of  acres  have  been  thus  taken  from 
the  poor  by  men  who  v/ere  already  rich,  and  the  more  land 
they  already  possessed  the  larger  share  of  the  commons  was  allot- 
ted to  them.  Even  a  Royal  Commission,  in  1869,  declared 
that  these  enclosures  were  often  made  "without  any  com- 
pensation to  the  smaller  commoners,  deprived  agricultural 
laborers  of  ancient  rights  over  the  waste,  and  disabled  the 
occupants  of  new  cottages  from  acquiring  new  rights." 

Now,  in  this  long  series  of  acts  of  plunder  of  the  people's 
land,  we  have  every  circumstance  tending  to  aggravate  the  crime. 
It  was  robbery  of  the  poor  by  the  rich.  It  was  robbery  of  the 
weak  and  helpless  by  the  strong.  And  it  had  that  worst  fea- 
ture which  distinguishes  robbery  from  mere  confiscation — the 
plunder  was  divided  among  the  individual  robbers.  Yet, 
again,  it  was  a  form  of  robbery  specially  forbidden  by  the  re- 
ligion of  the  robbers,  a  religion  for  which  they  professed  the 
deepest  reverence,  and  of  which  they  considered  themselves 
the  special  defenders.  They  read  in  what  they  call  the  Word  oj 
God,  "Woe  unto  them  that  join  house  to  house,  that  lay  field 
to  field,  till  there  is  no  place,  that  they  may  be  placed  alone  in 
the  midst  of  the  earth,"  yet  this  is  what  they  are  constantly 
striving  for,  not  by  purchase  only,  but  by  robbery.  Again  they 
are  told,  "The  land  shall  not  be  sold  for  ever,  for  the  land  is 
XXIX  [  19  ] 


THE  SOIL 

Mine";  and  at  every  fiftieth  year  all  land  was  to  return  to 
the  family  that  had  sold  it,  so  that  no  one  could  keep  land  beyond 
the  year  of  jubilee ;  and  the  reason  was  that  no  man  or  family 
should  remain  permanently  impoverished. 

Both  in  law  and  in  morality  the  receiver  of  'stolen  goods  is 
as  bad  as  the  thief;  and  even  if  he  has  purchased  a  stolen 
article  unknowingly  an  honorable  man  will,  when  he  discovers 
the  fact,  restore  it  to  the  rightful  owner.  Now,  our  great 
hereditary  landlords  know  very  well  that  they  are  the  legal 
possessors  of  much  stolen  property,  and,  moreover,  property 
which  their  religion  forbids  them  to  hold  in  great  quantities. 
Yet  we  have  never  heard  of  a  single  landlord  making  restitution 
to  the  robbed  nation.  On  the  contrary,  they  take  every  oppor- 
tunity of  adding  to  their  vast  possessions,  not  only  by  purchase, 
but  by  that  meanest  form  of  robbery — the  enclosing  of  every 
scrap  of  roadside  grass  they  can  lay  their  hands  on,  so  that  the 
wayfarer  or  the  tourist  may  have  nothing  but  dust  or  gravel 
to  walk  upon,  and  the  last  bit  of  food  for  the  cottager's  donkey 
or  goose  is  taken  away  from  him. 

This  all-embracing  system  of  land  robbery,  for  which  noth- 
ing is  too  great  and  nothing  too  little;  which  has  absorbed 
meadow  and  forest,  moor  and  mountain;  which  has  secured 
most  of  our  rivers  and  lakes,  and  the  lish  which  inhabit  them; 
which  often  claims  the  very  seashore  and  rocky  coast  line  of 
our  island  home,  making  the  peasant  pay  for  his  seaweed 
manure  and  the  fisherman  for  his  bait  of  shellfish;  which  has 
desolated  whole  counties  to  replace  men  by  sheep  or  cattle, 
and  has  destroyed  fields  and  cottages  to  make  a  wilderness  for 
deer;  which  has  stolen  the  commons  and  filched  the  roadside 
wastes;  which  has  driven  the  laboring,  poor  into  the  cities, 
and  has  thus  been  the  primary  and  chief  cause  of  the  lifelong 
misery,  disease,  and  early  death  of  thousands  who  might  have 
lived  lives  of  honest  toil  and  comparative  comfort  had  they 
been  permitted  free  access  to  land  in  their  native  villages; — 
it  is  the  advocates  and  beneficiaries  of  this  inhuman  system, 
the  members  of  this  "cruel  organization,"  who,  when  a  partial 
restitution  of  their  unholy  gains  is  proposed,  are  the  loudest  in 
their  cries  of  "robbery!"  But  all  the  robbery,  all  the  spolia- 
XXIX  r  20  1 


THE  SOIL 

tion,  all  the  legal  and  illegal  filching  has  been  on  their  side, 
and  they  still  hold  the  stolen  property.  They  make  laws  to 
justify  their  actions,  and  we  propose  equally  to  make  laws 
which  will  really  justify  ours,  because,  unlike  their  laws  which 
always  took  from  the  poor  to  give  to  the  rich,  ours  win  take 
only  from  the  superfluity  of  the  rich,  not  to  give  to  the  poor 
individually,  but  to  enable  the  poor  to  live  by  honest  work,  to 
restore  to  the  whole  people  their  birthright  in  their  native  soil, 
and  to  relieve  all  alike  from  a  heavy  burden  of  unnecessary 
taxation.  This  will  be  the  true  statesmanship  of  the  future, 
and  will  be  justified  alike  by  equity,  by  ethics,  and  by  religion. 

And  now,  in  conclusion,  I  will  give  one  or  two  extracts 
from  a  book  written  by  a  self-taught  worker  for  workers, 
to  show  how  workers  feel  on  the  questions  we  have  touched 
upon. 

'^At  present  the  working  people  of  this  country  live  under 
conditions  altogether  monstrous.  Their  labor  is  much  too 
heavy,  their  pleasures  are  too  few;  and  in  their  close  streets 
and  crowded  houses  decency  and  health  and  cleanHness  are 
wellnigh  impossible.  It  is  not  only  the  wrong  of  this  that  I 
resent,  it  is  the  waste.  Look  through  the  slums,  and  see  what 
childhood,  girlhood,  womanhood,  and  manhood  have  there 
become.  Think  what  a  waste  of  beauty,  of  virtue,  of  strength, 
and  of  all  the  power  and  goodness  that  go  to  make  a  nation 
great,  is  being  consummated  there  by  ignorance  and  by  injustice. 
For,  depend  upon  it,  every  one  of  our  brothers  or  sisters  ruined 
or  slain  by  poverty  or  vice  is  a  loss  to  the  nation  of  so  much 
bone  and  sinew,  of  so  much  courage  and  skill,  of  so  much  glory 
and  delight.  Cast  your  eyes,  then,  over  the  Registrar- General's 
returns,  and  imagine,  if  you  can,  how  many  gentle  nurses, 
good  mothers,  sweet  singers,  brave  soldiers,  clever  artists, 
inventors  and  thinkers,  are  swallowed  up  every  year  in  that 
ocean  of  crime  and  sorrow  which  is  known  to  the  official  mind 
as  'the  high  death  rate  of  the  wage-eammg  classes.'  Alas! 
the  pity  of  it." 

And  again,  from  the  same  writer: 

"A  short  time  ago  a  certain  writer,  much  esteemed  for  his 
graceful  style  of  saying  silly  things,  informed  us  that  the  poor 

XXIX  [  21  ] 


THE   SOIL 

remained  poor  because  they  show  no  efficient  desire  to  be  any- 
thing else.  Is  that  true?  Are  only  the  idle  poor?  Come  with 
me,  and  I  will  show  you  where  men  and  women  work  from 
morning  till  night,  from  week  to  week,  from  year  to  year,  at 
the  full  stretch  of  their  powers,  in  dim  and  fetid  dens,  and  yet 
are  poor,  ay,  destitute — ^have  for  their  wages  a  crust  of  bread 
and  rags.  I  will  show  you  where  men  work  in  dirt  and  heat,  us- 
ing the  strength  of  brutes,  for  a  dozen  hours  a  day,  and  sleep 
at  night  in  styes,  until  brain  and  muscle  are  exhausted;  and 
fresh  slaves  are  yoked  to  the  golden  car  of  commerce,  and  the 
broken  drudges  filter  through  the  union  or  the  prison,  to  a 
felon's  or  a  pauper's  grave!  And  I  will  show  you  how  men 
and  women  thus  work  and  suffer,  and  faint  and  die,  generation 
after  generation,  and  I  will  show  you  how  the  longer  and  harder 
these  wretches  toil  the  worse  their  lot  becomes;  and  I  will 
show  you  the  graves  and  find  witnesses  to  the  histories  of  brave 
and  noble  industrious  poor  men,  whose  lives  were  lives  of  toil 
and  poverty,  and  whose  deaths  were  tragedies.  And  all  these 
things  are  due  to  sin;  but  it  is  to  the  sin  of  the  smug  hypocrites 
who  grow  rich  upon  the  robbery  and  the  ruin  of  their  fellow- 
creatures." 

These  extracts  are  from  a  small  but  weighty  book  called 
"Merrie  England,"  by  Nunquam.  In  the  form  of  a  scries  of 
letters  on  socialism  to  a  workingman,  it  contains  more  impor- 
tant facts,  more  acute  reasoning,  more  conclusive  argument, 
and  more  good  writing,  than  are  to  be  found  in  any  EngHsh 
work  on  the  subject  I  am  acquainted  with.  When  such  men — 
and  there  are  many  of  them — are  returned  to  Parliament,  and 
are  able  to  influence  the  government  of  the  country,  the  dawn 
of  a  new  era,  bright  with  hope  for  the  long-suffering  workers, 
will  be  at  hand. 


XXIX  [  22  ] 


XXX 


ANARCHISM 

"THOU  SHALT  NOT  KILL" 

BY 

COUNT  LEO  TOLSTOI 

AND 

GEORGE  J.  HOLYOAKE 


SOCIALISM  with  all  its  various  shades  oj  speculation  has 
^  powerful  advocates  a7nong  our  leaders  oj  intellect,  but 
anarchism  has  no  jriends  except  among  the  rebels  of  extremely 
rabid  type.  Even  Tolstoi,  of  all  our  philosophers  perhaps  the 
most  ''advanced,''  the  keenest  of  insight  and  least  fettered  of  con- 
vention, even  he  cries  out  against  anarchism,  not  for  its  savagery, 
which  he  denies,  but  for  its  mistaken  folly.  Anarchism  is  a 
disease;  and  its  cause,  as  in  all  diseases,  must  lie  in  some  unhealthy 
condition  of  the  body  politic.  Perhaps  we  need  only  to  suppress 
the  outbreak  of  the  evil;  perhaps  a  wiser  ejfort  might  be  made 
to  cure  it  by  discovering  and  eradicating  its  cause.  Hence  we 
supplement  here  the  views  of  the  Russian,  Tolstoi,  with  those  of 
Mr.  TTolyoake,  a  well-knoivn  Member  of  Parliament  in  England. 
Between  them  they  point  out  for  us  very  fully  the  sources,  the 
dangers,  and  the  probable  results  of  this  wholly  unsatisfactory 
product  of  our  civilization. 

"■  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder." —  Ex.  xx.  13. 

"The  disciple  is  not  above  his  master:  but  every  one  when  he  is 
perfected  shall  be  as  his  master." — Luke  vi.  40. 

"•For  all  they  that  take-  up  the  sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword." — 
Matt.  xxvi.  52. 

"  All  things  therefore  whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto 
you,  even  so  do  ye  also  unto  them." — Matt.  vii.  12. 

When  kings  arc  tried  and  executed  like  Charles  I.,  Louis 
XVL,  and  Maximilian  of  Mexico;    or  killed  in  a  palace  con- 
XXX  [  I  ] 


ANARCHISM 

spiracy  like  Peter  III.,  Paul,  and  all  kinds  of  Sultans,  Shahs, 
and  Khans,  the  event  is  generally  passed  over  in  silence.  But 
when  one  of  them  is  killed  without  a  trial,  and  not  by  a  palace 
conspiracy;  like  Henry  IV.,  Alexander  II.,  Carnot,  the  Empress 
of  Austria,  the  Shah  of  Persia,  and,  recently,  King  Humbert 
of  Italy,  then  such  murder  causes  great  surprise  and  indigna- 
tion among  Kings  and  Emperors,  and  those  attached  to  them, 
as  if  they  were  the  great  enemies  of  murder,  as  if  they  never 
profited  by  murder,  never  took  part  in  it,  and  never  gave  orders 
to  commit  it.  And  yet  the  kindest  of  these  murdered  Kings, 
such  as  Alexander  II.,  or  Humbert,  were  guilty  of  the  murder 
of  tens  of  thousands  of  persons  killed  on  the  battlefield,  not 
to  mention  those  executed  at  home ;  while  hundreds  of  thousands, 
and  even  millions,  of  people  have  been  killed,  hanged,  beaten 
to  death,  or  shot,  by  the  more  cruel  Kings  and  Emperors. 

Christ's  teaching  cancels  the  law  "an  eye  for  an  eye,  a 
tooth  for  a  tooth";  but  those  men  who  have  kept  to  the  older 
law  and  still  keep  to  it,  who  act  upon  it  by  punishing  and 
carrying  on  wars,  and  who  not  only  act  on  the  law  "an  eye 
for  an  eye,"  but  give  orders  to  kill  thousands  without  any 
provocation,  by  declaring  war — they  have  no  right  to  be  in- 
dignant when  the  same  law  is  applied  to  themselves  in  so  in- 
finitesimal a  measure  that  hardly  one  King  or  Emperor  gets 
killed  to  a  hundred  thousand,  or  perhaps  to  a  million,  ordinary 
people  killed  by  the  order  or  with  the  consent  of  Kings  and 
Emperors. 

Kings  and  Emperors  should  not  be  indignant  when  such 
murders  as  that  of  Alexander  II.  or  Humbert  occur,  but  should, 
on  the  contrary,  be  surprised  that  such  murders  are  so  rare, 
considering  the  continual  and  universal  example  of  committing 
murders  they  themselves  set  the  people. 

Kings  and  Emperors  are  surprised  and  horrified  when  one 
of  themselves  is  murdered,  and  yet  the  whole  of  their  activity 
consists  in  managing  murder  and  preparing  for  murder.  The 
keeping  up,  the  teaching  and  exercising,  of  armies  with  which 
Kings  and  Emperors  are  always  so  much  occupied,  and  of 
which  they  are  the  organizers — what  is  it  but  preparation  for 
murder  ? 

XXX  r  2  1 


ANARCHISM 

The  masses  are  so  hypnotized  that,  though  they  see  what  is 
continually  going  on  around  them,  they  do  not  understand 
what  it  means.  They  see  the  unceasing  care  Kings,  Emperors, 
and  Presidents  bestow  on  disciplined  armies,  see  the  parades, 
reviews,  and  manoeuvres  they  hold,  and  of  which  they  boast 
to  one  another,  and  the  people  eagerly  crowd  to  see  how  their 
own  brothers,  dressed  up  in  bright-colored,  gHttering  clothes, 
are  turned  into  machines  to  the  sound  of  drums  and  trumpets, 
and,  obedient  to  the  shouting  of  one  man,  all  make  the  same 
movements;  and  they  do  not  understand  the  meaning  of  it  all. 

Yet  the  meaning  of  such  drilling  is  very  clear  and  simple. 
It  is  preparing  for  murder.  It  means  the  stupefying  of  men  in 
order  to  convert  them  into  instruments  for  murdering. 

And  it  is  just  Kings  and  Emperors  and  Presidents  who 
do  it,  and  organize  it,  and  pride  themselves  on  it.  And  it  is 
these  same  people  whose  special  employment  is  murder  organ- 
izing, who  have  made  murder  their  profession,  who  dress  in 
military  uniforms,  and  carry  weapons  (swords  at  their  side), 
who  are  horror-struck  and  indignant  when  one  of  themselves 
is  killed. 

It  is  not  because  such  murders  as  the  recent  murder  of 
Humbert  are  exceptionally  cruel  that  they  are  so  terrible. 
Things  done  by  the  order  of  Kings  and  Emperors,  not  only  in 
the  days  of  old,  such  as  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
persecutions  for  faith,  terrible  ways  of  putting  down  peasant 
riots,  but  also  the  present  executions,  the  torture  of  solitary 
cells  and  disciplinary  battalions,  hanging,  decapitation,  shoot- 
ing, and  slaughter  at  the  wars,  are  incomparably  more  cruel 
than  the  murders  committed  by  anarchists. 

Nor  is  it  on  account  of  their  injustice  that  these  murders 
are  terrible.  If  Alexander  and  Humbert  did  not  deserve  death, 
the  thousands  of  Russians  who  perished  at  Plevna,  and  of  Ital- 
ians who  perished  in  Abyssinia,  deserved  it  still  less.  No, 
it  is  not  because  of  their  cruelty  and  injustice  these  murders 
are  terrible,  but  because  of  the  want  of  reason  in  those  who 
perpetrate  them. 

If  the  regicides  commit  murder  under  the  influence  of 
feelings  of  indignation,  evoked  by  witnessing  the  sufferings  of 
XXX  [ 3  ] 


ANARCHISM 

the  enslaved  people,  for  which  sufferings  they  hold  Alexander 
II.,  Carnot,  or  Humbert  responsible,  or  because  they  are  in- 
fluenced by  personal  desire  for  revenge — however  immoral 
such  conduct  may  be,  still  it  is  comprehensible;  but  how  can 
an  organized  body  of  anarchists  such  as  those  by  whom,  it 
is  said,  Bressi  was  sent  out,  and  by  whom  another  Emperor 
was  threatened,  how  can  it,  quietly  considering  means  of  im- 
proving the  condition  of  the  people,  find  nothing  better  to  do 
than  to  murder  people,  the  killing  of  whom  is  as  useful  as  cutting 
off  one  of  the  Hydra's  heads? 

Kings  and  Emperors  have  long  established  a  system  resem- 
bling the  mechanism  of  a  magazine  rifle,  i.e.,  as  soon  as  one 
bullet  flies  out  another  takes  its  place.  '^  Le  roi  est  niort — vive 
le  roif''  Then  what  is  the  use  of  killing  them?  It  is  only 
from  a  most  superficial  point  of  view  that  the  murder  of  such 
persons  can  seem  a  means  of  saving  the  people  from  oppression 
and  wars,  which  destroy  their  lives. 

We  need  only  remember  that  the  same  kind  of  oppression 
and  war  went  on  no  matter  who  stood  at  the  head  of  the  Gov- 
ernment: Nicholas  or  Alexander,  Louis  or  Napoleon,  Frederic 
or  William,  Palmerston  or  Gladstone,  McKinley  or  any  one 
else,  in  order  to  see  that  it  is  not  some  definite  person  who  causes 
the  oppression  and  the  wars  from  which  people  suffer. 

The  misery  of  the  people  is  not  caused  by  individuals,  but 
by  an  order  of  Society  by  which  they  are  bound  together  in  a 
way  that  puts  them  in  the  power  of  a  few,  or,  more  often,  of 
one  man:  a  man  so  depraved  by  his  unnatural  position — 
having  the  fate  and  lives  of  millions  of  people  in  his  power — 
that  he  is  always  in  an  unhealthy  state  and  suffering  more  or 
less  from  a  mania  of  self-aggrandizement,  which  is  not  noticed 
in  him  only  because  of  his  exceptional  position. 

Apart  from  the  fact  that  such  men  are  surrounded,  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave,  by  the  most  insane  luxury  and  its  usual 
accompaniment  of  flattery  and  servility,  the  whole  of  their 
education,  and  all  their  occupations,  are  centred  on  the  one 
object  of  murder,  the  study  of  murder  in  the  past,  the  best 
means  of  murdering  in  the  present,  the  best  ways  of  preparing 
for  murder  in  the  future.  From  their  earliest  years  they  learn 
XXX  [ 4 ] 


ANARCHISM 

the  art  of  murder  in  all  possible  forms,  always  carry  about  with 
them  instruments  of  murder,  dress  in  different  uniforms,  attend 
parades,  manoeuvres,  and  reviews,  visit  each  other,  present 
orders  and  the  command  of  regiments  to  each  other.  And 
yet  not  only  does  nobody  tell  them  the  real  name  of  their  actions, 
not  only  does  nobody  tell  them  that  preparing  for  murder  is 
revolting  and  criminal,  but  they  hear  nothing  but  praise  and 
words  of  admiration  from  all  around  them  for  these  actions. 

The  only  part  of  the  Press  that  reaches  them,  and  which 
seems  to  them  to  be  the  expression  of  the  feelings  of  the  best 
of  the  people  or  their  best  representatives,  exalts  all  their 
words  and  deeds,  however  silly  and  wicked  they  may  be,  in 
the  most  servile  manner.  All  who  surround  them,  men  and 
women,  cleric  or  lay,  all  these  people  who  do  not  value  human 
dignity,  vie  with  each  other  in  flattering  them  in  the  most  re- 
fined manner,  agree  with  them  in  everything,  and  deceive  them 
continually,  making  it  impossible  for  them  to  know  life  as  it 
is.  These  men  might  live  to  be  a  hundred  and  never  see  a 
real,  free  man,  and  never  hear  the  truth. 

We  are  sometimes  appalled  by  the  words  and  deeds  of  these 
men,  but  if  we  only  consider  their  state  we  cannot  but  see  that 
any  man  would  act  in  the  same  way  in  such  a  position.  A 
reasonable  man  can  do  but  one  thing  in  such  a  position,  i.e., 
leave  it.  Every  one  who  remains  in  such  a  position  will  act 
in  the  same  manner. 

What,  indeed,  must  be  going  on  in  the  head  of  some  William 
of  Germany,  a  man  of  limited  understanding,  little  education, 
and  with  a  great  deal  of  ambition,  whose  ideals  are  like  those 
of  a  German  "junker,"  when  any  silly  or  horrid  thing  he  may 
say  is  always  met  with  an  enthusiastic  "  Hoch!^^  and  commented 
on,  as  if  it  were  something  very  important,  by  the  Press  of  the 
whole  world  ?  He  says  that  the  soldiers  should  be  prepared 
to  kill  their  own  fathers  in  obedience  to  his  command.  The 
answer  is  "Hurrah!"  He  says  the  Gospels  must  be  introduced 
with  a  fist  of  iron.  "Hurrah!"  He  says  that  the  Army  must 
not  take  any  prisoners  in  China,  but  kill  all,  and  he  is  not  placed 
in  a  lunatic  asylum,  but  they  cry  "Hurrah!"  and  set  sail  for 
China  to  execute  his  orders. 

XXX  [ 5  ] 


ANARCHISM 

Or  Nicholas,  who,  though  naturally  modest,  begins  his 
reign  by  declaring  to  venerable  old  men,  in  answer  to  the  de- 
sire they  express  of  being  allowed  to  discuss  their  own  affairs, 
that  their  hope  for  self-government  is  a  senseless  dream.  And 
the  organs  of  the  Press  that  reach  him,  and  the  people  whom 
he  meets,  praise  him  for  it.  He  proposes  a  childish,  silly, 
and  untruthful  project  of  universal  peace  at  the  same  time 
that  he  is  ordering  an  increase  of  the  Army,  and  even  then 
there  are  no  limits  to  the  laudati:ns  of  his  wisdom  and  his 
virtue.  Without  any  reason,  he  senselessly  and  pitilessly  offends 
the  whole  of  the  Finnish  nation,  and  again  hears  nothing  but 
praise.  At  last  he  enters  upon  the  Chinese  slaughter,  terrible 
by  its  injustice,  cruelty,  and  its  contrast  with  his  project  of 
peace;  and  he  gets  applauded  simultaneously  from  all  sides, 
both  for  his  own  conquests  and  for  his  adherence  to  his  father's 
policy  of  peace.  What  must  indeed  be  going  on  in  the  heads 
and  hearts  of  such  men? 

So  that  it  is  not  Alexanders  and  Humberts,  Williams, 
Nicholases,  and  Chamberlains,  who  are  the  cause  of  oppression 
and  war,  even  though  they  do  organize  them,  but  it  is  those  who 
have  placed  them  in,  and  support  them  in,  a  position  in  which 
they  have  power  over  the  life  and  death  of  men. 

Therefore  it  is  not  necessary  to  kill  Alexanders  and  Nicho- 
lases, Williams  and  Humberts,  but  only  to  leave  off  supporting 
the  social  condition  of  w^hich  they  are  the  product.  It  is  the 
selfishness  and  stupefaction  of  the  people  who  sell  their  freedom 
and  their  honor  for  insignificant  material  advantages  which 
supports  the  present  state  of  society. 

Those  who  stand  on  the  lowest  rung  of  the  ladder,  partly 
as  a  consequence  of  being  stupefied  by  a  patriotic  and  pseudo- 
religious  education,  partly  for  the  sake  of  personal  advantages, 
give  up  their  freedom  and  their  feeling  of  human  dignity  to  those 
who  stand  higher,  and  who  offer  them  material  advantages. 
In  a  like  position  are  those  standing  a  little  higher.  They, 
too,  through  being  stupefied,  and  especially  for  material  ad- 
vantages, give  up  their  freedom  and  sense  of  human  dignity. 
The  same  is  true  of  those  standing  still  higher;  and  so  it  con- 
tinues up  to  the  highest  rungs,  up  to  the  person  or  persons  who, 
XXX  [ 6  ] 


ANARCHISM 

standing  on  the  very  summit  of  the  social  cone,  have  no  one 
to  submit  to,  nor  anywhere  to  rise  to,  and  have  no  motive  for 
action  except  ambition  and  love  of  power.  These  arc  generally 
so  depraved  and  stupefied  by  their  insane  power  over  life  and 
death,  and  by  the  flattery  and  servility  of  those  around  them, 
which  is  connected  with  such  power,  that  while  doing  evil 
they  feel  convinced  they  are  the  benefactors  of  the  human 
race.  It  is  the  people  themselves  who,  by  sacrificing  their 
human  dignity  for  material  profits,  produce  these  men,  and  are 
afterwards  angry  with  them  for  their  stupid  and  cruel  acts; 
murdering  such  people  is  like  whipping  children  after  spoiling 
them. 

Very  little  seems  needed  to  stop  oppression  and  useless  war, 
and  to  prevent  any  one  from  being  indignant  with  those  who 
seem  to  be  the  cause  of  such  oppression  and  war. 

Only  that  things  should  be  called  by  their  right  names  and 
seen  as  they  are;  that  it  should  be  understood  that  an  army 
is  an  instrument  of  murder,  that  the  recruiting  and  drilling  of 
armies  which  Kings,  Emperors,  and  Presidents  carry  on  with 
so  much  self-assurance  are  preparations  for  murder. 

If  only  every  King,  Emperor,  and  President  would  under- 
stand that  his  work  of  organizing  armies  is  not  an  honorable 
and  important  duty,  as  his  flatterers  persuade  him  it  is,  but  a 
most  abominable  business,  i.e.,  the  preparing  for,  and  the  man- 
aging of,  murder.  If  only  every  private  individual  understood 
that  the  payment  of  taxes  w^hich  helps  to  equip  soldiers,  and, 
above  all,  military  service,  are  not  immaterial  but  highly  im- 
moral actions,  by  which  he  not  only  permits  murder,  but 
takes  part  in  it  himself — then  this  power  of  the  Kings  and  Em- 
perors which  arouses  indignation,  and  causes  them  to  be  killed, 
would  come  to  an  end  of  itself. 

And  so  the  Alexanders,  Carnots,  Humberts,  and  others 
should  not  be  killed,  but  it  ought  to  be  shown  them  that  they 
are  murderers;  and,  above  all,  they  should  not  be  allowed  to 
kill  men;   their  orders  to  murder  should  not  be  obeyed. 

If  men  do  not  yet  act  in  this  manner,  it  is  only  because 
Governments,  to  maintain  themselves,  diligently  exercise  a  hyp- 
notic influence  upon  the  people.  Therefore  we  can  help  to 
XXX  [ 7  ] 


ANARCHISM 

prevent  people  killing  Kings  and  each  other,  not  by  murder — 
murders  only  strengthen  this  hypnotic  state — but  by  arousing 
men  from  the  delusion  in  which  they  are  held. 

And  it  is  this  that  I  have  tried  to  do  in  these  remarks. 


BY 

GEORGE  JACOB  HOLYOAKE 

Anarchism  arises  from  the  despair  of  the  good  and  the 
malevolence  of  the  bad.  There  are  two  kinds  of  anarchists, 
just  as  there  are  two  kinds  of  Tories.  The  social  kind  seek 
power,  that  they  may  control  public  affairs  for  the  good  of  the 
people,  which  they  believe  they  can  better  manage  than  the 
people  themselves.  The  political  Tories  seek  paramountcy 
and  authority  for  pride  or  interest,  and  are  indifferent  or  hostile 
to  the  welfare  of  the  people — not  counting  them  of  conse- 
quence. In  like  manner  there  are  anarchists  who  seek  by 
reason  to  supersede  public  government  by  self-government — 
a  slow,  long-lasting  task.  There  is  another  and  brutal  class  of 
anarchists  who  are  animated  by  resentment  and  the  baser  sort 
by  vengeance.  They  seek  to  destroy  the  most  conspicuous  repre- 
sentatives of  order  or  government.  They  have  that  purpose, 
but  no  plan.  Their  future  is  only  a  day  or  a  week.  Their 
motive,  so  far  as  they  can  be  said  to  have  one,  is  to  bring  about 
a  change.  They  think  any  change  must  be  for  the  better — 
which  shows  their  credulity.  They  are  under  the  impression 
that  were  authority  destroyed  things  would  right  themselves — 
which  they  never  do.  The  prospect  that  they  will  is  so  hopeless 
that  persons  on  this  sane  side  of  madness  can  never  accept  this 
wild  and  blind  solution  of  societarian  wrongs,  whatever  they 
may  be.  Whoever  puts  this  dismal  doctrine  into  practice  must 
be  arrested,  and  the  repetition  of  the  offence  made  impossible 
or  improbable.  Society  must  vindicate  itself  against  irresponsible 
subjection.  Yet  it  may  temper  the  expression  of  public  wrath 
XXX  [ 8 ] 


ANARCHISM 

to  remember  that  the  awful  belief  that  murder  is  a  mode  of 
progress  is  not  peculiar  to  anarchists.  Charles  the  Second 
gave  a  colonelcy  to  Silas  Titus,  who  wrote  inciting  the  assassi- 
nation of  the  Lord  Protector  Cromwell.  English  Tories  fav- 
ored the  assassination  of  Napoleon,  and  he  in  his  turn  pensioned 
the  man  who  sought  the  assassination  of  Wellington.  All  the 
monarchs  of  Europe  praised  the  knife  of  Charlotte  Corday. 
Froude  has  shown  that  Catholics  and  Protestants  have  alike  ap- 
proved tyrannicide  and  used  it.  Did  not  Lord  Beaconsfield 
*' bless  the  hand  that  wields  the  regicidal  steel"  ?  We  all  know 
how  the  French  Revolutionists  ruined  their  cause  and  perished 
by  the  hands  of  their  own  adherents,  and  led  to  a  worse  des- 
potism than  that  which  they  subverted,  and  established  it  or 
strengthened  it  all  over  Europe.  If  the  anarchists  of  the  dagger 
or  the  bullet  had  their  way,  they  would  all  be  destroyed  by  their 
own  disciples  of  more  *' advanced  views,"  who  would  find  their 
existence  an  obstacle  to  further  progress.  Therefore  let  the  doc- 
trine that  murder  is  a  mode  of  progress  be  execrated  wherever 
it  shows  itself  in  high  place  or  low,  in  the  yellow  press  or  in  the 
streets.  Carlyle,  by  his  dangerous  gospel  of  force,  has  done 
more  than  all  the  anarchists  to  demoralize  our  national  policy 
and  to  inspire  political  assassination  with  a  sense  of  rectitude, 
as  I  learned  from  IMadame  Pulsky.  It  caused  Canon  Kingsley, 
just-minded  as  he  was,  and  Lord  Tennyson,  who  had  as  many 
virtues  as  gifts,  to  support,  to  applaud  Governor  Eyre's  murders 
in  Jamaica.  I  sat  by  Governor  Eyre-  in  the  House  of  Commons 
when  Mr.  Cardwell  (afterwards  Lord  Cardwell)  admitted  that 
there  had  been  unnecessary  "executions,"  which  is  the  parlia- 
mentary name  for  murder.  I  hate  anarchy  alike  in  military 
or  civil  life,  and  all  that  leads  to  it  or  incites  revenge  by  death, 
as  does  the  new  doctrine — that  "leniency  is  a  mistake" — that 
it  is  weakness  or  cowardice.  Can  there  be  any  wonder  that 
some  people,  for  the  ends  of  their  hatred,  better  these  perilous 
instructions?  And  so  incited,  the  pitiless  sentiment  acts 
equally  in  republics  and  monarchies. 

Anarchism  is  not  a  modern  invention — is  not  a  foreign  device 
— it  is  a  disease  of  impatience  in  politics,  and  many  have  it. 
But  it  is  without  excuse  in  countries  where  reasonable  freedom 
XXX  [9] 


ANARCHISM 

exists.  If  with  a  free  press,  free  speech,  and  a  free  ParHament, 
agitators  cannot  advance  just  objects,  they  do  not  understand 
their  business. 

Nameless  incidents  to  outrage  everybody  is  willing  to  see 
forbidden.  Those  who  are  invited  to  act  upon  the  advice  of 
the  writer  have  a  right  to  know  upon  whose  authority  they  are 
to  place  themselves  in  jeopardy.  When  a  publisher,  I  exacted 
this  condition  in  respect  of  any  pamphlet  of  perilous  tendency 
brought  to  me.  Authors  of  deadly  counsel  against  the  state 
could  not,  or  should  not,  object,  when  called  upon,  to  explain 
their  intent.  It  was  Bakunin  who  first  in  modern  days  proposed 
to  end  government  by  the  knife.  He  was  listened  to  because 
he  was  a  Russian  and  belonged  to  a  land  where  reason  was  not 
tolerated  and  irresponsible  ferocity  ruled.  Wiser  and  nobler 
men  than  Bakunin,  men  of  unrivalled  learning,  such  as  Elis^e 
Reclus,  his  brother  Elie,  and  others,  are  philosophical  anarchists, 

Elie  Reclus  came  to  me  to  solicit  a  scarce  engraving  of 
Robert  Owen,  a  famous  advocate  of  progress  by  reason.  The 
philosophical  anarchists  adopt,  or  accept,  the  name,  but  have 
no  anarchy  in  them.  They  are  against  conventional  govern- 
ment— not  from  malice,  but  because  they  think  self-govern- 
ment nobler.  What  they  seek  is  unlimited  freedom,  which, 
if  set  going  to-morrow,  would  not  last  a  month.  They  hold 
that  free  association  will  be  the  ultimate  form  of  society.  There 
is  no  disquietude  in  that — but  the  distance  to  it  is  distressing. 
They  are  for  voluntary,  not  compulsory  society.  Their  passion 
is  for  absolute  individual  freedom.  It  may  be  described  as 
individuality  run  mad — as  men  and  things  go.  Yet  it  is  not  a 
bad  theory  that  a  man  should  be  a  law  unto  himself.  Others 
have  thought  that  who  are  not  counted  as  anarchists.  But 
he  who  is  to  be  a  law  unto  himself  should  have  a  perfect  self. 
And  society  has  reared  very  few  of  that  kind.  True,  Shakes- 
peare says,  "To  thine  own  self  be  true."  But  if  a  man  who 
was  a  rascal  by  nature,  or  policy,  or  interest,  were  true  to  him- 
self, he  would  be  a  very  undesirable  person  to  knovv^.  How- 
ever, this  theory  of  anarchy  has  no  bullet  in  it  and  its  discussion 
no  harm  in  it. 

Society  would  be  sillv  not  to  distinguish  between  the  anarchy 
XXX  [  lo  ] 


ANARCHISM 

of  reason  and  the  anarchy  of  violence.     To  the  anarchy  of 
assassination  there  can  be  but  one  answer :  whether  the  motive 
be  good  or  ill,  benevolent  or  hostile,  its  hand  must  be  arrested 
and  its  further  use  be  provided  against.     But  in  a  manner  firm 
and  self-regarding.     Because  some  anarchist  goes  mad  that 
is  no  reason  why  society  should.     One  man's  insanity  is  not 
cured  by  another  becoming  insane.     The  Indian  Thug  was 
far  more  dangerous  than  any  enemies  of  order  abroad  now. 
The  cord  has  gone  in  India,  and  the  knife  will  follow  in  Europe. 
Public  perturbation  only  inflates  the  assassin  with  self-impor- 
tance,   and    incites   the   emulation   of   the   obscure.     Furious 
epithets  increase  partisans  by  affording  a  species  of  spurious 
reason  for  serious  retaliation.     When  Dynamitards  arose,  their 
operations  were  confined  to  futile  alarms  producing  injury  to 
unimportant  persons  only,  when  a  young  lord  in  the  House  of 
Commons  accused  them  of  want  of  courage  to  attack  persons 
in  high  places.     Everybody  knows  the   response  to  that  in- 
cautious jeer.     We  have  seen  a  European  emperor  describe,  in 
a  telegram,  the  assailant  of  President  McKinley  as  a  ''dastardly 
person."     A  dastard  is  a  coward  who  is  afraid  of  danger.     Un- 
happily these  assailants  are  not  all  cowards  and  these  epithets 
incite  them  to  show  that  they  are  not.     They  may  be  fiends— 
they  may  be  execrable— but  he  who  takes  his  life  in  his  hands 
is  not  a  dastard.     This  assailant  was  atrocious.     He  shot  the 
President  who  extended  the  hand  of  courtesy  and  amity  to  him. 
A  man  who  throws  bombs,  which  bring  death  to  the  innocent 
also,  from  which  he  seeks  to  escape,  is  a  dastard. 

Nevertheless,  let  the  ministers  of  repression  have  discriminat- 
ing eyes.  I  have  known  men  of  real  tenderness,  of  generosity 
and  humanity,  who  had,  notwithstanding,  a  sanguinary  strain 
in  their  principles.  Many  in  high  places  have  it,  as  all  who 
watch  them,  or  read  their  utterances  by  speech  or  pen,  well 
know.  If  they  bring  their  sentiment  into  operation,  they  should 
be  made  to  answer  for  it  as  well  as  the  vulgar  brute  whose  mind 
is  murderous.  There  is  a  foolish  praise  of  "  thoroughness  "  (the 
fruitful  source  of  many  outrages)  by  persons  who  do  not  know 
that  all  principles  have  their  limits.  Thoroughness  means  the 
extermination  of  all  obstacles  in  the  way  of  a  theory.  Even 
XXX  [ii] 


ANARCHISM 

thoroughness  in  good  has  its  perils.  It  is  a  maxim  of  experience 
that  it  takes  half  the  time  of  the  wise  to  correct  and  protect 
themselves  from  the  errors  of  the  good. 

Some  years  ago,  when  our  Government  were  asked  to  enter 
into  a  European  concert  to  repress  anarchism,  Mr.  Gladstone 
asked  me  what  I  thought  of  such  a  step,  saying  his  disinclina- 
tion to  it  was  that  the  modes  of  procedure  in  some  countries 
were  such  as  would  revolt  the  English  people,  and  England, 
if  it  entered  into  the  concert,  would  be  committed  to  the  approval 
and  be  understood  to  sanction  whatever  occurred.  It  was  im- 
possible not  to  agree  in  this  view.  Every  country  has  means 
of  dealing  with  the  evil  in  question  if  it  has  prudence  and 
patience.  Every  anarchist  is  known  to  the  police  and  in  every 
group  there  is  a  spy  or  a  fool.  What  more  can  the  police  want  ? 
The  extinction  of  this  evil  lies  in  higher  hands  and  other  manners 
than  theirs. 

The  objection  to  government  and  lawful  order  is  simply  a 
reversion  to  the  savage  state.  Mr.  Auberon  Herbert  and  the 
philosophers  of  absolute  freedom  cannot  make  anything  else 
of  it.  The  savage  life  is  bold,  brave,  defiant,  and  full  of  original 
activities — but  very  inconvenient  to  others.  Its  ceaseless 
watchfulness,  vicissitudes,  and  tragedies  contain  no  time  for 
progress.  The  irreconcilable  philosopher  who  is  out  of  it 
thinks  he  would  be  better  in  it.  Let  him  try  it.  The  oppor- 
tunity is  open  to  him.  There  are  savages  of  the  purest  type 
who  will  be  glad  to  receive  him — and  eat  him  when  meals  run 
short.  We  always  have  persons  among  us  devoid  of  appre- 
ciation of  the  advantages  into  which  they  were  born — not  know- 
ing what  their  forefathers  suffered  for  want  of  them,  or  what  it 
cost  to  obtain  them.  The  philosophers  who  are  against  govern- 
ment do  not  realize  what  life  is  without  it.  Men  may  be  too 
much  governed — they  often  are;  but  the  remedy  does  not  lie 
in  the  extreme  of  no  government.  Anarchic  outrage  is  born 
of  this  impetuous  oversight.  The  best  of  life  does  not  consist 
of  defiance.  There  is  dignity  in  just  obedience.  There  is 
noble  pleasure  in  grateful  or  useful  service.  It  is  this  sense 
which  philosophical  and  proletarian  anarchy  ahke  lack. 

XXX  [  12  ] 


XXXI 

WAR 

"A   DEMONSTRATION    OF   ITS  FUTILITY  " 

BY 

DAVID  STARR  JORDAN 

PRESIDENT  OF  LELAND  STANFORD  UNIVERSITY 

AND 

CARL  SCHURZ 

FORMER  UNITED  STATES  SENATOR 


TN  our  last  address  the  celebrated  Tolstoi  insisted  that  war 
was  murder.  This,  alas,  comes  so  near  to  being  terribly 
true  that  there  have  been  jew  wars  indeed  where  it  can  be  urged 
that  both  sides  fought  under  pressure  of  necessity.  In  private 
life  most  of  us,  even  if  causelessly  attacked,  would  go  to  great  lengths 
of  yielding  and  avoidance  rather  than  assume  the  tremendous 
and  tragic  responsibility  of  destroying  the  life  of  the  assailant. 
Yet  the  same  one  of  us  who  thus  recognizes  the  sanctity  of  human 
existence  in  the  individual  will  cry  out  for  war,  for  death  in 
uncounted  thousands,  as  heedlessly  as  if  it  were  some  childish 
game  to  be  played  for  tops  or  kisses.  We  clamor  that  we  will 
show  the  foe  they  ^^  can't  bluff  us,^^  that  we  will  ^^  give  them  a  good 
hiding,  sir,  and  teach  them  who  we  areT''  Silly  vanity  and 
idle  bluster!  Are  these  the  inspiring  thoughts  which  sanctify 
a  thousand  murders  and  make  each  glorious?  Is  this  the  spirit 
in  which  to  raise  the  curtain  upon  a  national  tragedy  ? 

Yet  there  are  not  wanting  those  among  us  who  seriously 
believe  in  war.  It  teaches  courage,  they  say;  and  moreover, 
good  as  our  own  nation  7nay  be,  other  nations  are  so  wicked 
we  are  forced  to  keep  prepared  and  on  guard.  It  is  with  these 
thoughts  in  view  that  many  of  us,  unconsciously  perhaps,  have 
come  to  look  on  war  as  a  vague,  far-off  necessity,  not  likely 
to  affect  us  personally.  Hence  we  neglect  to  meditate  upon 
XXXI  [  I  ] 


WAR 

its  moral  turpitude.  War  is  only  "helP'  to  those  who  have 
lived  and  thought  amid  its  horrors.  And  while  many  of  us 
may  turn  from  it  with  vague  distaste,  there  has  been  lacking  in 
most  minds  the  active  motive  for  antagonism  against  it,  which 
is  here  supplied  by  two  of  our  most  eminent  citizens. 

David  Starr  Jordan,  LL.D.,  the  honored  president  of  a 
great  university,  has  long  been  one  of  the  most  powerful  and 
impassioned  of  our  pleaders  against  all  war.  This  present 
address  he  delivered  last  spring  at  the  Franklin  centennial  cele- 
bration in  Philadelphia,  and  it  is  here  printed  with  his  approval. 
The  name  of  Carl  Schurz  is  too  well  known  to  need  explana- 
tion. As  editor  of  Harper's  Weekly  he  wrote  the  accom- 
panying celebrated  appeal  in  the  days  of  popular  excitement 
which  preceded  our  Spanish  war.  This  brilliant  address  has 
been  often  quoted  in  part.  It  is  here  reprinted  in  full  by  per- 
mission of  Messrs.  Harper  and  Brothers.  Both  articles  deal 
with  the  subject  calmly  and  practically,  examining  it  by  a 
method  scientific  rather  than  emotional. 


THE  HUMAN  HARVEST 

BY 

David  Starr  Jordan 

Science  is  wisdom  set  in  order.  It  is  known  as  science 
by  its  orderly  arrangement,  but  above  and  beyond  all  matters 
of  arrangement  the  wisdom  itself  must  take  rank.  Wisdom 
is  the  essence  of  human  experience,  the  contact  of  mind  with  the 
order  of  nature.  Of  all  men  of  his  time,  Benjamin  Franklin 
was  preeminently  a  man  of  wisdom.  By  the  same  token 
the  first  leader  in  science  in  America,  he  still  takes  rank  with 
the  greatest. 

So  in  this  time  of  heroic  recognition,  it  is  proper  that  a  speaker 
of  to-day  should  find  his  message  in  the  words  of  Benjamin 
Franklin,  and  the  message  I  choose  is  one  for  which  this  city 
of  Philadelphia  has  always  stood  and  from  which  it  has  taken 
its  Greek  name,  the  name  which  in  classical  phrase  says  with 
a  single  word  that  men  are  brothers  worthy  of  our  love.     It 

XXXI  [  2  ] 


WAR 

is  a  message  for  which  the  State  of  Pennsylvania  has  always 
stood,  for  the  same  principle  was  embodied  in  the  life  of  William 
Penn.  This  has  always  been  a  Quaker  City,  and  the  Quakers, 
the  Friends,  have  been  our  best  apostles  of  the  gospel  of  "peace 
on  earth,  good  will  towards  men,"  the  culmination  of  social 
and  political  wisdom. 

Benjamin  Franklin  once  said,  "All  war  is  bad;  some  wars 
worse  than  others."  Then,  once  again,  in  more  explicit  terms, 
referring  to  the  dark  shadow  of  war  cast  over  scenes  of  peace, 
the  evil  of  the  standing  army,  FrankHn  said  to  Baynes: 

"If  one  power  singly  were  to  reduce  its  standing  army 
it  would  be  instantly  overrun  by  other  nations.  Yet  I  think 
there  is  one  effect  of  a  standing  army  which  must  in  time  be 
felt  so  as  to  bring  about  the  abolition  of  the  system.  A  standing 
army  not  only  diminishes  the  population  of  a  country,  but  even 
the  size  and  breed  of  the  human  species.  For  an  army  is  the 
flower  of  the  nation.  All  the  most  vigorous,  stout,  and  well- 
made  men  in  a  kingdom  are  to  be  found  in  the  army,  and  these 
men  in  general  cannot  marry."  ^ 

What  is  true  of  standing  armies  is  far  more  true  of  armies 
that  fight  and  fall;  for,  as  Franklin  said  again,  "Wars  are  not 
paid  for  in  war  times:   the  bill  comes  later." 

In  the  discussion  of  the  principles  involved  in  Franklin's 
words,  I  must  lay  before  you  four  fragments  of  history,  three 
stories  told  because  they  are  true,  and  one  parable  not  true, 
but  told  for  the  lesson  it  teaches.  And  this  is  the  first:  Once 
there  was  a  man,  strong,  wealthy,  and  patient,  who  dreamed  of  a 
finer  type  of  horse  than  had  ever  yet  existed.  This  horse  should 
be  handsome,  clean  limbed,  intelligent,  docile,  strong,  and  swift. 
These  traits  were  to  be  not  those  of  one  horse  alone,  a  member 
of  a  favored  equine  aristocracy;  they  were  to  be  "bred  in  the 
bone"  so  that  they  would  continue  from  generation  to  generation, 
the  attributes  of  a  special  common  type  of  horse.  And  with 
this  dream  ever  before  his  waking  eyes,  he  invoked  for  his  aid 
the  four  twin  genii  of  organic  life,  the  four  by  which  all  the 
magic  of  transformism  of  species  has  been  accomplished  either 
in  nature  or  in  art.  And  these  forces  once  in  his  service,  he 
1  Parton's  "Life  of  Franklin,"  II,  p.  572. 

XXXI  [  3  ] 


WAR 

left  to  their  control  all  the  plans  included  in  his  great  ambition. 
These  four  genii  or  fates  are  not  strangers  to  us,  nor  were  they 
new  to  the  human  race.  Being  so  great  and  so  strong,  they  are 
invisible  to  all  save  those  who  seek  them.  Men  who  deal  with 
them  after  the  fashion  of  science  give  them  commonplace 
names:  variation,  heredity,  segregation,  selection. 

Because  not  all  horses  are  alike,  because  in  fact  no  two  were 
ever  quite  the  same,  the  first  appeal  was  made  to  the  genius 
of  Variation.  Looking  over  the  world  of  horses,  he  found  to 
his  hand  Kentucky  race-horses,  clean  limbed,  handsome,  and 
fleet,  some  more  so  and  others  less.  So  those  which  had  the 
most  of  the  virtues  of  the  horse  which  was  to  be  were  chosen 
to  be  blended  in  new  creation.  Then  again,  he  found  thorough- 
bred horses  of  Arabian  stock,  hardy  and  strong  and  intelligent. 
These  virtues  were  needed  in  the  production  of  the  perfect 
horse.  And  here  came  the  need  of  the  second  genius,  who  is 
called  Heredity.  With  the  crossing  of  the  racer  with  the  thor- 
oughbred, all  qualities  of  both  were  blended  in  the  progeny. 
The  next  generation  partook  of  all  desirable  traits  and  again 
of  undesirable  ones  as  well.  Some  the  one,  and  some  the 
other,  for  sire  and  dam  alike  had  given  the  stamp  of  its  own 
kind  and  for  the  most  part  in  equal  degree.  But  again  never 
in  a  degree  quite  equal,  and  in  some  measure  these  matters 
varied  with  each  sire  and  each  dam,  and  with  each  colt  of  all 
their  progeny.  It  was  found  that  the  progeny  of  the  mare 
called  Beautiful  Bells  excelled  all  others  in  retaining  all  that 
was  good  in  fine  horses  and  in  rejecting  all  that  a  noble  horse 
should  not  have.  And  like  virtues  were  attached  to  the  sires 
called  Palo  Alto,  Electricity,  and  Electioneer. 

But  there  were  horses  and  horses ;  horses  not  of  the  chosen 
breed,  and  should  these  enter  the  fold  with  their  common  blood, 
it  would  endanger  all  that  had  been  already  accomplished. 
For  the  ideal  horse  mating  with  the  common  horse  controls 
at  the  best  but  half  the  traits  of  the  progeny.  If  the  strain 
were  to  be  established,  the  vulgar  horseflesh  must  be  kept  away, 
and  only  the  best  rernain  in  association  with  the  best.  Thus 
Segregation,  the  third  of  the  genii,  was  called  into  service  lest 
the  successes  of  this  herd  be  lost  in  the  failure  of  some  other. 
XXXI  [  4  ] 


WAR 

Under  the  spell  of  Heredity  all  the  horses  partook  of  the 
charm  of  Beautiful  Bells  and  of  Electricity  and  of  Palo  Alto, 
for  firmly  and  persistently  all  others  were  banished  from  their 
presence.  There  were  some  who  were  not  strong,  some  who 
were  not  sleek,  some  who  were  not  fleet,  some  who  were  not 
clean-limbed,  nor  docile,  nor  intelligent.  At  least,  they  were 
not  so  to  the  degree  which  the  dream  of  fair  horses  demanded. 
By  the  force  of  Selection,  all  such  were  sent  away.  Variation 
was  always  at  work  making  one  colt  unlike  another;  Heredity 
made  each  colt  a  blend  or  mosaic  of  traits  of  sire  and  of  grand- 
sires  and  granddams;  Selection  left  only  good  traits  to  form 
this  mosaic,  and  the  grandsire  and  granddam,  sire  and  dam,  and 
the  rest  of  the  ancestry  lived  their  lives  again  in  the'  expanding 
circle  of  descent. 

Thus  in  the  final  result,  the  horses  who  were  left  were  the 
horses  of  their  owner's  dream.  The  future  of  the  breed  was 
fixed,  and  fixed  at  the  beginning  by  the  very  framing  of  the 
conditions  under  which  it  lived.  It  is  variation  which  gives 
better  as  well  as  worse.  It  is  heredity  which  saves  all  that  has 
been  attained — for  better  or  for  worse.  It  is  selection  by  which 
better  triumphs  over  worse,  and  it  is  segregation  which  protects 
the  final  result  from  falling  again  into  the  grasp  of  the  general 
average.  In  all  this,  selection  is  the  vital,  moving,  changing 
force.  It  throws  the  shaping  of  the  future  on  the  individual 
chosen  by  the  present.  The  horse  who  is  left  marks  the  future 
of  his  kind.  The  history  of  the  steed  is  an  elongation  of  the 
history  of  those  who  are  chosen  for  parentage.  And  with  the 
best  of  the  best  chosen  for  parentage,  the  best  of  the  best 
appears  in  the  progeny.  The  horse-harvest  is  good  in  each 
generation.     As  the  seed  we  sow,  so  shall  we  reap. 

And  this  story  is  true,  known  to  thousands  of  men.  And 
it  will  be  true  again  just  as  often  as  men  may  try  to  carry  it  into 
experiment.  And  it  will  be  true  not  of  horses  alone,  for  the 
four  fates  which  guide  and  guard  life  have  no  partiality  for 
horses  but  work  just  as  persistently  for  cattle  or  sheep,  or  plums 
or  roses,  or  calla  or  cactus,  as  they  do  for  horses  or  for  men. 
From  the  very  beginning  of  life  they  have  wrought  untiringly — 
and  in  your  life  and  in  mine — in  the  grass  of  the  field,  the  trees 
XXXI  [  5  ] 


WAR 

of  the  forest — in  bird  and  beast,  everywhere  we  find  the  traces 
of  their  energy. 

And  this  brings  me  to  my  second  story,  which  is  not  true  as 
history,  but  only  in  its  way  as  parable. 

There  was  once  a  man — strenuous  no  doubt,  but  not  wise, 
for  he  did  not  give  heed  to  the  real  nature  of  things  and  so  he 
set  himself  to  do  by  his  own  unaided  hand  the  work  which  only 
the  genii  can  accomplish.  And  this  man  possessed  also  a  stud 
of  horses.  They  were  docile,  clean-limbed,  fleet,  and  strong, 
and  he  would  make  them  still  more  strong  and  swift.  So  he 
rode  them  swiftly  with  all  his  might-^ay  and  night,  always  on 
the  course,  always  pushed  to  the  utmost,  leaving  only  the  dull 
and  sluggish  to  remain  in  the  stalls.  For  it  was  his  dream  to 
fill  these  horses  with  the  spirit  of  action,  with  the  glory  of  swift 
motion,  that  this  glory  might  be  carried  on  and  on  to  the  last 
generation  of  horses.  There  were  some  who  could  not  keep 
the  pace,  and  to  these  and  these  alone  he  assigned  the  burden 
of  bearing  colts.  And  the  feeble  and  the  broken,  the  dull  of 
wit,  the  coarse  of  limb,  became  each  year  the  mothers  of  the  colts. 
The  horses  who  were  chosen  for  the  race-course  he  trained  with 
every  care,  and  every  stroke  of  discipline  showed  itself  in  the 
flashing  eyes  and  straining  muscles — such  were  the  best  horses. 
But  the  other  horses  were  the  horses  who  were  left.  From 
their  loins  came  the  next  generation  and  with  these  then  was 
less  fire  and  less  speed  than  the  first  horses  possessed  in  such 
large  measure.  But  still  the  rush  went  on — whip  and  spur 
made  good  the  lack  of  native  movement.  The  racers  still 
pushed  on  the  course,  while  in  the  stall  and  paddocks  at  home 
the  dull  and  common  horses  bore  their  dull  and  common  colts. 
Variation  was  still  at  w^ork  with  these  as  patiently  as  ever. 
Heredity  followed,  repeating  faithfully  whatever  was  left  to 
her.  Segregation,  always  conservative,  guarded  her  own,  but 
could  not  make  good  the  deficiencies.  Selection,  forced  to 
act  perversely,  chose  for  the  future  the  worst  and  not  the  best, 
as  was  her  usual  fashion.  So  the  current  of  life  ran  steadily 
downward.  The  herd  was  degenerating  because  it  was  each 
year  an  inferior  herd  which  bred.  Each  generation  yielded 
weaker  colts,  rougher,  duller,  clumsier  colts,  and  no  amount 
XXXI  [  6  ] 


WAR 

of  training  or  lash  or  whip  or  spur  made  any  permanent  differ- 
ence for  the  better.  The  horse  harvest  W2is  bad.  Thorough- 
bred and  race -horse  gave  place  to  common  beasts,  for  in  the 
removal  of  the  noble  the  ignoble  always  finds  its  opportunity. 
It  is  always  the  horse  that  remains  which  determines  the  future 
of  the  stud. 

In  like  fashion  from  the  man  who  is  left  flows  the  current  of 
human  histor}^ 

This  tale  then  is  a  parable,  a  story  of  what  never  was,  but 
which  is  always  trying  to  become  true. 

Once  there  was  a  great  king— and  the  nation  over  which 
he  bore  rule  lay  on  the  flanks  of  a  mountain  range,  spreading 
across  fair  hills  and  valleys  green  and  fertile,  across  to  the  Med- 
iterranean Sea.  And  the  men  of  his  race,  fair  and  strong, 
self-reliant  and  self-confident,  men  of  courage  and  men  of  action, 
were  men  "who  knew  no  want  they  could  not  fill  for  them- 
selves." They  knew  none  on  whom  they  looked  down,  and 
none  to  whom  they  regarded  themselves  inferior.  And  for 
all  things  which  men  could  accomplish  these  ploughmen  of  the 
Tiber  and  the  Apennines  fcU  themselves  fully  competent  and 
adequate.  "Vir,"  they  called  themselves  in  their  own  tongue, 
and  virile,  virilis,  men  like  them  are  called  to  this  day.  It  was 
the  weakling  and  the  slave  who  was  crowded  to  the  wall;  the 
man  of  courage  begat  descendants.  In  each  generation  and 
from  generation  to  generation  the  human  harvest  was  good. 
And  the  great  wise  king  who  ruled  them — but  here  my  story 
halts,  for  there  was  no  king.  There  could  be  none.  For  it 
was  written,  men  fit  to  be  called  men,  men  who  are  Vires , 
"are  too  self-willed,  too  independent,  and  too  self-cultured 
to  be  ruled  by  anybody  but  themselves."  Kings  are  for  weak- 
lings, not  for  men.  Men  free-born  control  their  own  destinies. 
"The  fauhis  not  in  our  stars,  but  in  ourselves  that  we  are  under- 
lings." For  it  was  later  said  of  these  same  days:  "there  was  a 
Brutus  once,  who  would  have  brooked  the  Eternal  Devil  to 
take  his  seat  in  Rome,  as  easily  as  a  king  "  And  so  there  was 
no  king  to  cherish  and  control  these  men  and  his  subjects.  The 
spirit  of  freedom  was  the  only  ruler  they  knew,  and  this  spirit 
being  herself  metaphoric  called  to  her  aid  the  four  great  genii 
XXXI  [  7  ] 


WAR 

which  create  and  recreate  nations.  Variation  was  ever  at  work, 
while  heredity  held  fast  all  that  she  developed.  Segregation  in 
her  mountain  fastnesses  held  the  world  away,  and  selection  chose 
the  best  and  for  the  best  purposes,  casting  aside  the  weakly, 
and  the  slave,  holding  the  man  for  the  man's  work,  and  ever 
the  man's  work  was  at  home,  building  the  cities,  subduing  the 
forests,  draining  the  marshes,  adjusting  the  customs  and 
statutes,  preparing  for  the  new  generations.  So  the  men  begat 
sons  of  men  after  their  own  fashion,  and  the  men  of  strength 
and  courage  were  ever  dominant.  The  Spirit  of  Freedom  was 
a  wise  master,  cares  wisely  for  all  that  he  controls. 

So  in  the  early  days,  when  Romans  were  men,  when  Rome 
was  small,  without  glory,  without  riches,  without  colonies  and 
without  slaves,  these  were  the  days  of  Roman  greatness. 

Then  the  Spirit  of  Freedom  little  by  little  gave  way  to  the 
Spirit  of  Domination.  Conscious  of  power,  men  sought  to 
exercise  it,  not  on  themselves  but  on  one  another.  Little  by 
little,  this  meant  banding  together,  aggression,  suppression, 
plunder,  struggle,  glory,  and  all  that  goes  with  the  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  war.  The  individuality  of  men  was  lost  in 
the  aggrandizement  of  the  few.  Independence  was  swallowed 
up  in  ambition,  patriotism  came  to  have  a  new  meaning.  It 
was  transferred  from  the  hearth  and  home  to  the  trail  of  the 
army. 

It  does  not  matter  to  us  now  what  were  the  details  of 
the  subsequent  history  of  Rome.  We  have  now  to  consider 
only  a  single  factor  In  science,  this  factor  is  known  as  ''rever- 
sal of  selection."  "Send  forth  the  best  ye  breed!"  That 
was  the  word  of  the  Roman  war-call.  And  the  Spirit  of  Domi- 
nation took  these  words  literally,  and  the  best  were  sent  forth. 
In  the  conquests  of  Rome,  Vir,  the  real  man,  went  forth  to  battle 
and  to  the  work  of  foreign  invasion;  HomOy  the  human  being, 
remained  in  the  farm  and  the  workshop  and  begat  the  new 
generations.  Thus  ''Vir  gave  place  to  Homo."  The  sons  of 
real  men  gave  place  to  the  sons  of  scullions,  stable-boys,  slaves, 
camp  followers,  and  the  riff-raff  of  those  the  great  victorious 
army  does  not  want. 

The  fall  of  Rome  was  not  due  to  luxury,  effeminacy,  cor- 
XXXI  [  8  ] 


WAR 

ruption,  the  wickedness  of  Nero  and  Caligula,  the  weakness 
of  the  train  of  Constantine's  worthless  descendants.  It  was 
fixed  at  PhiHppi,  when  the  spirit  of  domination  was  victorious 
over  the  spirit  of  freedom.  It  was  fixed  still  earlier,  in  the  rise 
of  consuls  and  triumvirates  and  the  fall  of  the  simple,  sturdy, 
self-sufficient  race  who  would  brook  no  arbitrary  ruler.  When 
the  real  men  fell  in  war,  or  were  left  in  far-away  colonies,  the  life 
of  Rome  still  went  on.  But  it  was  a  different  type  of  Roman 
which  continued  it,  and  this  new  type  repeated  in  Roman 
history  its  weakling  parentage. 

"It  is  puerile,"  says  Charles  Ferguson,  "to  suppose  that 
kingdoms  are  made  by  kings.  The  kij;igs  could  do  nothing  if 
the  mob  did  not  throw  up  its  cap  when  the  king  rides  by.  The 
king  is  consented  to  by  the  mob,  because  of  that  in  him  which 
is  mob-like.  The  mob  loves  glory  and  prizes,  so  does  the  king. 
If  he  loved  beauty  and  justice,  the  mob  would  shout  for  him 
while  the  fine  words  were  sounding  in  the  air,  but  he  could 
never  celebrate  a  jubilee  or  establish  a  dynasty.  When  the 
crowd  gets  ready  to  demand  justice  and  beauty,  it  becomes 
a  democracy  and  has  done  with  kings." 

Thus  we  read  in  Roman  history  the  rise  of  the  mob  and  of 
the  emperor  who  is  the  mob's  exponent.  It  is  not  the  presence 
of  the  emperor  which  makes  imperialism.  It  is  the  absence 
of  the  people,  the  want  of  men.  Babies  in  their  day  have  been 
emperors.  A  wooden  image  would  serve  the  same  purpose. 
More  than  once  it  has  served  it.  The  decline  of  a  people  can 
have  but  one  cause,  the  decline  in  the  type  from  which  it  draws 
its  sires.  A  herd  of  cattle  can  degenerate  in  no  other  way  than 
this,  and  a  race  of  men  is  under  the  same  laws.  By  the  rise 
in  absolute  power,  as  a  sort  of  historical  barometer,  we  may 
mark  the  decline  in  the  breed  of  the  people.  We  see  this  in  the 
history  of  Rome.  The  conditional  power  of  Julius  Caesar, 
resting  on  his  own  tremendous  personality,  showed  that  the 
days  were  past  of  Cincinnatus  and  of  Junius  Brutus.  The 
power  of  Augustus  showed  the  same.  But  the  decline  went  on. 
It  is  written  that  "the  little  finger  of  Constantine  was  thicker 
than  the  loins  of  AugustuSo''  The  emperor  in  the  time  of 
Claudius  and  CaHgula  was  not  the  strong  man  who  held  in 
XXXI  [  9  ] 


WAR 

check  all  lesser  men  and  organizations.  He  was  the  creature 
of  the  mob,  and  the  mob,  intoxicated  with  its  own  work,  wor- 
shipped him  as  divine.  Doubtless  the  last  emperor,  Augustulus 
Romulus,  before  he  was  thrown  into  the  scrap  heap  of  history, 
was  regarded  in  the  mob's  eyes  and  his  own  as  the  most  godlike 
of  them  all. 

What  have  the  historians  to  say  of  these  matters?  Very 
few  have  grasped  the  full  significance  of  their  own  words, 
for  very  few  have  looked  on  men  as  organisms,  and  on  nations 
as  dependent  on  the  specific  character  of  the  organisms  destined 
for  their  reproduction. 

So  far  as  I  know,  Benjamin  Franklin  was  the  first  to  think 
of  man  thus  as  an  inhabitant,  a  species  in  nature  among  other 
species  and  dependent  on  nature's  forces  as  other  animals 
and  other  inhabitants  must  be. 

In  Otto  Seeck's  great  history  of  ''The  Downfall  of  the 
Ancient  World"  (Der  Untergang  der  Antiken  Welt),  he  finds 
this  downfall  due  solely  to  the  rooting  out  of  the  best  ("Die 
Ausrottung  der  Besten").  The  historian  of  the  "Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire"  or  any  other  empire  is  engaged 
solely  with  the  details  of  the  process  by  which  the  best  men  are 
exterminated.  Speaking  of  Greece,  Dr.  Seeck  says,  "A  wealth 
of  force  of  spirit  went  down  in  the  suicidal  wars."  "In  Rome, 
Marius  and  Cinna  slew  the  aristocrats  by  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands. Sulla  destroyed  the  democrats,  and  not  less  thoroughly. 
Whatever  of  strong  blood  survived,  fell  as  an  offering  to  the 
proscription  of  the  Triumvirate."  "The  Romans  had  less  of 
spontaneous  force  to  lose  than  the  Greeks.  Thus  desolation 
came  to  them  sooner.  Whoever  was  bold  enough  to  rise 
politically  in  Rome  was  almost  without  exception  thrown  to 
the  ground.  Only  cowards  remained  and  jrom  their  brood 
came  forward  the  new  generations.  Cowardice  showed  itself 
in  lack  of  originality  and  in  slavish  following  of  masters  and 
traditions." 

The  Romans  of  the  republic  could  not  have  made  the  his- 
tory of  the  Roman  empire.  In  their  hands  it  would  have  been 
still  a  republic.  Could  they  have  held  aloof  from  world-con- 
quering schemes,  Rome  might  have  remained  a  republic,  en- 
XXXI  [lo] 


WAR 

during  even  to  our  own  day.  The  seeds  of  destruction  lie  not 
in  the  race  nor  in  the  form  of  government,  but  in  the  influences 
by  which  the  best  men  arc  cut  of!  from  the  work  of  parenthood. 
''The  Roman  empire,"  says  Seeley,  "perished  for  want  of 
men."  The  dire  scarcity  of  men  is  noted  even  by  Julius  Csesar. 
And  at  the  same  time  it  is  noted  that  there  are  men  enough. 
Rome  was  filling  up  like  an  overflowing  marsh.  Men  of  a 
certain  type  were  plenty,  "people  with  guano  in  their  com- 
position," to  use  Emerson's  striking  phrase,  but  the  self-reliant 
farmers,  the  hardy  dwellers  on  the  flanks  of  the  Apennines, 
the  Roman  men  of  the  early  Roman  days,  these  were  fast  going, 
and  with  the  change  in  the  breed  came  the  change  in  Roman 
history. 

"The  mainspring  of  the  Roman  army  for  centuries  had  been 
the  patient  strength  and  courage,  capacity  for  enduring  hard- 
ships, instinctive  submission  to  military  discipHne  of  the  popu- 
lation that  lined  the  Apennines." 

With  the  Antonines  came  "a  period  of  sterility  and  barren- 
ness in  human  beings."  ''The  human  harvest  was  had:' 
Bounties  were  offered  for  marriage.  Penalties  were  devised 
against  race  suicide.  "Marriage,"  says  Metellus,  "is  a  duty 
which,  however  painful,  every  citizen  ought  manfully  to  dis- 
charge." Wars  were  conducted  in  the  face  of  a  declining 
birth  rate,  and  this  decline  in  quality  and  quantity  of  the  human 
harvest  engaged  very  early  the  attention  of  the  wise  men  of 
Rome. 

"The  effect  of  the  wars  was  that  the  ranks  of  the  small 
farmers  were  decimated,  while  the  number  of  slaves  who  did 
not  serve  in  the  army  multiplied"  (Bury). 

Thus  "  Vir  gave  place  to  Homo,'"  real  men  to  mere  human 
beings.  There  were  always  men  enough,  such  as  they  were. 
"A  hencoop  will  be  filled,  whatever  the  (original)  number  of 
hens,"  said  Benjamin  Franklin.  And  thus  the  mob  filled  Rome. 
No  wonder  the  mob  leader,  the  mob  hero  rose  in  relative  im- 
portance. No  wonder  "the  little  finger  of  Constantine  was 
thicker  than  the  loins  of  Augustus."  No  wonder  that  "if 
Tiberius  chastised  his  subjects  with  whips,  Valentinian  chas- 
tised them  with  scorpions." 

XXXI  [  II  ] 


WAR 

"  Government,  having  assumed  godhead,  took  at  the  same 
time  the  appurtenances  of  it.  Officials  muUiphed.  Subjects 
lost  their  rights.  Abject  fear  paralyzed  the  people  and  those 
that  ruled  were  intoxicated  with  insolence  and  cruelty."  "The 
worst  government  is  that  which  is  most  worshipped  as  divine.'* 
The  emperor  possessed  in  the  army  an  overwhelming  force 
over  which  citizens  had  no  influence,  which  was  totally  deaf  to 
reason  or  eloquence,  which  had  no  patriotism  because  it  had  no 
countr}%  which  had  no  humanity  because  it  had  no  domestic 
ties."  "There  runs  through  Roman  literature  a  brigand's  and 
barbarian's  contempt  for  honest  industry."  "Roman  civihza- 
tion  was  not  a  creative  kind,  it  was  military;  that  is,  destruc- 
tive." What  was  the  end  of  it  all  ?  The  nation  bred  real  men 
no  more.  To  cultivate  the  Roman  fields  "whole  tribes  were 
borrowed."  The  man  of  the  quick  eye  and  the  strong  arm 
gave  place  to  the  slave,  the  scullion,  the  pariah,  the  man  with 
the  hoe,  the  man  whose  lot  does  not  change  because  in  him 
there  lies  no  power  to  change  it.  "Slaves  have  wTongs,  but 
freemen  alone  have  rights."  So  at  the  end  the  Roman  world 
yielded  to  the  barbaric,  because  it  was  weaker  in  force.  "The 
barbarians  settled  and  peopled  the  barbaric  rather  than  con- 
quered it."  And  the  process  is  recorded  in  history  as  the  fall 
of  Rome. 

"Out  of  every  hundred  thousand  strong  men,  eighty  thou- 
sand were  slain.  Out  of  every  hundred  thousand  weaklings, 
ninety  to  ninety-five  thousand  were  left  to  survive."  This  is 
Dr.  Seeck's  calculation,  and  the  biological  significance  of  such 
mathematics  must  be  evident  at  once.  Dr.  Seeck  speaks 
with  scorn  of  the  idea  that  Rome  fell  from  the  decay  of  old 
age,  from  the  corruption  of  luxury,  from  neglect  of  military 
tactics  or  from  the  over-diffusion  of  culture. 

"It  is  inconceivable  that  the  mass  of  Romans  suffered 
from  over-culture."  "In  condemning  the  sinful  luxury  of 
wealthy  Romans,  we  forget  that  the  trade  lords  of  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries  were  scarcely  inferior  in  this  regard  to 
Lucullus  and  Apicius,  their  waste  and  luxury  not  constituting 
the  slightest  check  to  the  advance  of  the  nations  to  which  these 
men  belonged.  The  people  who  lived  in  luxury  in  Rome 
XXXI  [  12  ] 


WAR 

were  scattered  more  thinly  than  in  any  modern  state  of  Europe. 
The  masses  Hvcd  at  all  times  more  poorly  and  frugally  because 
they  could  do  nothing  else.  Can  we  conceive  that  a  war  force 
of  untold  millions  of  people  is  rendered  effeminate  by  the  luxury 
of  a  few  hundreds?" 

*'Too  long  have  historians  looked  on  the  rich  and  noble 
as  marking  the  fate  of  the  world.  Half  the  Roman  empire 
was  made  up  of  rough  barbarians  untouched  by  Greek  or  Roman 
culture." 

"Whatever  the  remote  and  ultimate  cause  may  have  been, 
the  immediate  cause  to  which  the  fall  of  the  empire  can  be  traced 
is  a  physical,  not  a  moral,  decay.  In  valor,  discipline,  and  science 
the  Roman  armies  remained  what  they  had  always  been  and 
the  peasant  emperors  of  Illyricum  were  worthy  successors  of 
Cincinnatus  and  Caius  Marius.  But  the  problem  was,  how 
to  replenish  those  armies.  Men  were  wanting.  The  empire 
perished  for  want  of  men"  (Seeley). 

Does  history  ever  repeat  itself?  It  always  does  if  it  is  true 
history.  If  it  does  not  we  are  dealing  not  with  history  but 
with  mere  succession  of  incidents.  Like  causes  produce  Hke  ef- 
fects, just  as  often  as  man  may  choose  to  test  them.  Whenever 
men  use  a  nation  for  the  test,  poor  seed  yields  a  poor  fruition. 
Where  the  weakling  and  the  coward  survives  in  human  history, 
there  "  the  human  harvest  is  bad,"  and  it  can  never  be  otherwise. 

The  finest  Roman  province,  a  leader  in  the  Roman  world, 
was  her  colony  of  Hispania.  What  of  Spain  in  history  ?  What 
of  Spain  to-day?  "This  is  Castile,"  said  a  Spanish  writer, 
"  she  makes  men  and  wastes  them."  "  This  sublime  and  terrible 
phrase,"  says  another  writer,  "sums  up  Spanish  history." 

In  1630,  according  to  Captain  Calkins,  the  Augustinian 
friar.  La  Puente,  thus  summed  up  the  fate  of  Spain: 

"Against  the  credit  for  redeemed  souls,  I  set  the  cost  of 
armadas  and  the  sacrifice  of  soldiers  and  friars  sent  to  the  Phil- 
ippines. And  this  I  count  the  chief  loss :  for  mines  give  silver 
and  forests  give  timber,  but  only  Spain  gives  Spaniards,  and 
she  may  give  so  many  that  she  may  be  left  desolate  and  con- 
strained to  bring  up  strangers'  children  instead  of  her  own." 

Another  of  the  noblest  of  Roman  provinces  was  Gallia,  the 
XXXI  [  13  ] 


WAR 

favored  land,  in  which  the  best  of  the  Romans,  the  Franks, 
and  the  Northmen  have  mingled  their  blood  to  produce  a  nation 
of  men,  hopefully  leaders  in  the  arts  of  peace,  fatally  leaders 
also  in  the  arts  of  v^^ar. 

To-day  we  are  told  by  Frenchmen  that  France  is  a  decadent 
nation.  This  is  a  confession  of  judgment,  not  an  accusation 
of  hostile  rivals.  It  does  not  mean  that  the  slums  of  Paris 
are  destructive  of  human  life.  That  we  know  elsewhere. 
Each  great  city  has  its  great  burdens,  and  these  fall  hard  on 
those  at  the  bottom  of  the  layers  of  society.  There  is  degrada- 
tion in  all  great  cities,  but  the  great  cities  are  not  the  whole  of 
France.  It  is  claimed  that  the  decadence  is  deep-seated, 
not  individual.  It  is  said  that  the  birth  rate  is  steadily  falling, 
that  the  average  stature  of  men  is  lower  by  two  inches  at  least 
than  it  was  a  century  ago,  that  the  physical  force  is  less  among 
the  peasants  at  their  homes.  Legoyt  tells  us  that  "it  will  take 
long  periods  of  peace  and  plenty  before  France  can  recover 
the  tall  statures  mowed  down  in  the  wars  of  the  republic  and 
the  first  empire."  What  is  the  cause  of  all  this?  Intem- 
perance, vice,  misdirected  education,  bureaucracy,  and  the 
rush  toward  ready-made  careers?  These  may  be  symptoms. 
They  are  not  causes.  Demolins  asks  in  that  clever  volume 
of  his:  "In  what  constitutes  the  superiority  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon?"  Before  we  answer  this,  let  us  inquire  in  what  consti- 
tutes the  inferiority  of  the  Latin  races.  If  we  admit  this 
inferiority  exists  in  any  degree,  and  if  we  answer  it  in  any 
degree,  we  find  in  the  background  the  causes  of  the  fall  of 
Greece,  the  fall  of  Rome,  the  fall  of  Spain.  We  find  the  spirit 
of  domination,  the  spirit  of  glory,  the  spirit  of  war,  the  final 
survival  of  subserviency,  of  cowardice,  and  of  sterility.  The 
man  who  is  left  holds  in  his  grasp  the  history  of  the  future.  The 
evolution  of  a  race  is  always  selective,  never  collective.  Col- 
lective evolution  among  men  or  beasts,  the  movement  upward  or 
downward  of  the  whole  as  a  whole,  irrespective  of  training  or 
selection  does  not  exist.  As  Lepouge  has  said,  "It  exists  in 
rhetoric,  not  in  truth  nor  in  history." 

The  survival  of  the  fittest  in  the  struggle  for  existence  is 
the  primal  moving  cause  of  race  progress  and  of  race  changes. 
XXXI  [  14  ] 


WAR 

In  the  red  stress  of  human  histoiy,  this  natural  process  of  selec- 
tion is  sometimes  reversed.  A  reversal  of  selection  is  the  be- 
ginning of  degradation.  It  is  degradation  itself.  Can  we  see 
the  fall  of  Rome  in  the  downfall  of  France  ?  Let  us  look  again 
at  the  history.  A  single  short  part  of  it  will  be  enough.  It 
will  give  us  the  clew  to  the  rest. 

In  the  Wiertz  gallery  in  Brussels  is  a  wonderful  painting, 
dating  from  the  time  of  Waterloo,  called  Napoleon  in  Hell. 
It  represents  the  great  marshal  with  folded  arms  and  face 
unmoved  descending  slowly  to  the  land  of  the  shades.  Before 
him,  filling  all  the  background  of  the  picture  with  every  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  are  the  men  sent  before  him  by  the  unbridled 
ambition  of  Napoleon.  Three  millions  and  seventy  thousand 
there  were  in  all — so  history  tells  us,  more  than  half  of  them 
Frenchmen.  They  are  not  all  shown  in  one  picture.  They  are 
only  hinted  at.  And  behind  the  millions  shown  or  hinted  at  are 
the  millions  on  millions  of  men  who  might  have  been  and  are 
not — the  huge  widening  human  wedge  of  the  possible  descend- 
ants of  the  men  who  fell  in  battle.  These  men  of  Napoleon's 
armies  were  the  youth  without  blemish,  "the  best  that  the  na- 
tion could  bring,"  chosen  as  "food  for  powder,"  "ere  evening 
to  be  trampled  like  the  grass,"  in  the  rush  of  Napoleon's  great 
battles.  These  men  came  from  the  plough,  from  the  work  shop, 
from  the  school,  the  best  there  were— those  from  eighteen  to 
thirty-five  years  of  age  at  first,  but  afterward  the  older  and  the 
younger.  "A  boy  will  stop  a  bullet  as  well  as  a  man";  this 
maxim  is  accredited  to  Napoleon.  "The  more  vigorous  and 
well  born  a  young  man  is,"  says  Novicow,  "the  more  normally 
constituted,  the  greater  his  chance  to  be  slain  by  musket  or 
magazine,  the  rifled  cannon  and  other  similar  engines  of  civiliza- 
tion." Among  those  destroyed  by  Napoleon  were  "the  elite 
of  Europe."  "Napoleon,"  says  Otto  Seeck,  "in  a  series  of 
years  seized  all  the  youth  of  high  stature  and  left  them  scattered 
over  many  battlefields,  so  that  the  French  people  who  followed 
them  are  mostly  men  of  smaller  stature.  More  than  once 
in  France  since  Napoleon's  time  has  the  military  limit  been 
lowered." 

I  need  not  tell  again  the  story  of  Napoleon's  campaigns.  It 
XXXI  [  15  ] 


WAR 

began  with  the  United  States,  the  justice  and  helpfulness  of 
the  Code  Napoleon,  the  prowess  of  the  brave  lieutenant  whose 
military  skill  and  intrepidity  had  caused  him  to  deserve  well  of 
his  nation. 

The  spirit  of  freedom  gave  way  to  the  spirit  of  domination. 
The  path  of  glory  is  one  which  descends  easily.  Campaign 
followed  campaign,  against  enemies,  against  neutrals,  against 
friends.  The  trail  of  glory  crossed  the  Alps  to  Italy  and  to 
Egypt,  crossed  Switzerland  to  Austria,  crossed  Germany  to 
Russia.  Conscription  followed  victory,  and  victory  and  con- 
scription debased  the  human  species.  "  The  human  harvest 
was  had.^''  The  First  Consul  became  the  Emperor.  The  servant 
of  the  people  became  the  founder  of  the  dynasty.  Again  con- 
scription after  conscription.  "Let  them  die  with  arms  in  their 
hands.  Their  death  is  glorious,  and  it  will  be  avenged.  You 
can  always  fill  the  places  of  soldiers."  These  were  Napoleon's 
words  when  Dupont  surrendered  his  army  in  Spain  to  save 
the  lives  of  a  doomed  battalion. 

More  conscription.  After  the  battle  of  Wagram,  we  are 
told,  the  French  began  to  feel  their  weakness;  the  Grand 
Army  was  not  the  army  which  fought  at  Ulm  and  Jena.  "  Raw 
conscripts  raised  before  their  time  and  hurriedly  drafted  into 
the  line  had  impaired  its  steadiness." 

On  to  Moscow,^  "amidst  ever-deepening  misery  they 
struggled  on,  until  of  the  600,000  men  who  had  proudly  crossed 
the  Niemen  for  the  conquest  of  Russia,  only  20,000  famished, 
frost-bitten,  unarmed  spectres  staggered  across  the  bridge  of 
Korno  in  the  middle  of  December." 

"Despite  the  loss  of  the  most  splendid  army  marshalled 
by  man.  Napoleon  abated  no  whit  of  his  resolve  to  dominate 
Germany  and  discipline  Russia."  "  .  .  .He  strained  every 
effort  to  call  the  yputh  of  the  empire  to  arms  .  .  .  and  350,000 
conscripts  were  promised  by  the  Senate.  The  mighty  swirl 
of  the  Moscow  campaign  sucked  in  150,000  lads  of  under 
twenty  years  of  age  into  the  devouring  vortex."  "The  peasan- 
try gave  up  their  sons  as  food  for  cannon."     But  "many  were 

^ These  quotations  are  from  the  "History  of  Napoleon  I,"  by  J.  H. 
Rose. 

XXXI  [  16  ] 


WAR 

appalled  at  the  frightful  drain  on  the  nation's  strength."  "In 
less  than  half  a  year  after  the  loss  of  half  a  million  men  a  new 
army  nearly  as  numerous  was  marshalled  under  the  imperial 
eagles.  But  the  majority  were  young,  untrained  troops,  and 
it  was  remarked  that  the  conscripts  born  in  the  year  of  Terror 
had  not  the  stamina  of  the  earlier  levies.  Brave  they  were, 
superbly  brave,  and  the  Emperor  sought  by  every  means  to 
breathe  into  them  his  indomitable  spirit."  "Truly  the  Emperor 
could  make  boys  heroes,  but  he  could  never  repair  the  losses 
of  1812."  "  Soldiers  were  wanting,  youths  were  dragged  forth." 
The  human  harvest  was  at  its  very  worst. 

And  the  sequel  of  it  all  is  the  decadence  of  France.  In  the 
presence  of  war — of  war  on  such  a  mighty,  ruthless,  and  ruinous 
scale — one  does  not  have  to  look  far  to  find  in  what  constitutes 
the  superiority  of  the  Anglo-Saxon.  And  we  see  the  truth  in 
Franklin's  words,  the  deeper  truth  of  their  deeper  wisdom: 
"Men  do  not  pay  for  war  in  war  time;  the  bill  comes  later." 

Another  wise  man,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  has  used  these 
words:  "Man  has  but  one  future,  and  that  is  predetermined 
in  his  lobes."  "All  the  privilege  and  all  the  legislation  in  the 
world  cannot  meddle  or  help.  How  shall  a  man  escape  from 
his  ancestors  or  draw  off  from  his  veins  the  black  drop?" 

It  is  related  that  Guizot  once  asked  this  question  of  James 
Russell  Lowell:  "HoVv^  long  will  the  republic  endure?"  "So 
long  as  the  ideas  of  its  founders  remain  dominant,"  was  the 
answer.  But  again  we  have  the  question:  "How  long  will  the 
ideas  of  its  founders  remain  dominant?"  Just  so  long  as  the 
blood  of  the  founders  remains  dominant  in  the  blood  of  its 
people.  Not  necessarily  the  blood  of  the  Puritans  and  the  Vir- 
ginians alone,  the  original  creators  of  the  land  of  free  states. 
We  must  not  read  our  histoiy  so  narrowly  as  that.  It  is  the 
blood  of  free-born  men,  be  they  Roman,  Frank,  Saxon,  Nor- 
man, Dane,  Goth,  or  Samurai.  It  is  a  free  stock  which  creates 
a  free  nation.  Our  republic  shall  endure  so  long  as  the  human 
harvest  is  good,  so  long  as  the  movement  of  history,  the  progress 
of  peace  and  industry  leaves  for  the  future  not  the  worst  but 
the  best  of  each  generation.  The  republic  of  Rome  lasted  so 
long  as  there  were  Romans,  the  republic  of  America  will  last 
XXXI  [17] 


WAR 

so  long  as  its  people,  in  blood  and  in  spirit,  remain  what  we 
have  learned  to  call  Americans. 

By  the  law  of  probabilities  as  developed  by  Quetelet,  there 
will  appear  in  each  generation  the  same  number  of  potential 
poets,  artists,  investigators,  patriots,  athletes,  and  superior  men 
of  each  degree. 

But  this  law  involves  the  theory  of  continuity  of  paternity, 
that  in  each  generation  a  percentage  practically  equal  of  men 
of  superior  force  or  superior  mentality  should  survive  to  take 
the  responsibilities  of  parenthood.  Otherwise  Quetelet's  law 
becomes  subject  to  the  operation  of  another  law,  the  operation 
of  reversed  selection,  or  the  biological  "law  of  diminishing 
returns."  In  other  words,  breeding  from  an  inferior  stock 
is  the  sole  agency  in  race  degeneration,  as  selection,  natural 
or  artificial  along  one  line  or  another,  is  the  sole  agency  in  race 
progress. 

And  all  laws  of  probabilities  and  of  averages  are  subject 
to  a  still  higher  law,  the  primal  law  of  biology,  which  no  cross- 
current of  life  can  overrule  or  modify:  Like  the  seed  is  the 
harvest, 

ABOUT  WAR 

BY 

Carl  Schurz 

Let  us  imagine  the  first  news  of  the  destruction  of  the 
"Maine  "in  the  harbor  of  Havana  had  been  accompanied  by  clear 
proof  that  the  catastrophe  was  caused  by  a  torpedo  or  a  mine 
— what  would  have  been  the  duty  of  our  Government  ?  Would 
it  have  been  to  rush  forthwith  into  a  war  with  Spain  upon  the 
assumption  that  Spanish  officials  and,  with  them,  the  Span- 
ish Government  were  responsible  for  the  calamity  ?  Or  would 
it  not  rather  have  been  to  inquire  whether  Spanish  officials 
were  really  responsible,  and,  if  they  were  found  to  be,  whether 
the  Spanish  Government  were  willing  or  not  to  make  due  atone- 
ment for  the  acts  of  its  agents  ?  What  man  of  good  sense  and 
of  sound  moral  instincts  would  wish  that  war  be  resorted  to 
while  an  honorable  adjustment  seems  attainable?  And  yet 
XXXI  [  i8  ] 


WAR 

a  resort  to  war  is  on  every  possible  occasion  spoken  of,  not 
only  by  the  miscreants  with  whom  the  stirring  up  of  a  war 
excitement  is  a  mere  business  speculation,  but  even  by  other- 
wise rational  and  respectable  persons,  with  a  flippancy  as  if 
war  were  nothing  more  serious  than  an  international  yacht 
race  or  a  football-match. 

That  war  has  in  the  history  of  mankind  sometimes  served 
good  purposes  in  forming  nations,  in  repressing  barbarism, 
in  enforcing  justice,  in  removing  obstructions  to  the  spread  of 
civilization,  will  hardly  be  denied  by  anybody.  How  much  of 
such  work  is  still  to  be  done,  and  how  far  the  instrumentality 
of  war  may  still  be  required  to  that  end,  it  is  needless  to  discuss 
here.  In  any  event,  it  will  be  admitted  that  whatever  object 
is  to  be  accomplished,  war  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  last  expedient 
to  be  resorted  to,  and  not  the  first. 

What  docs  civilization  mean  if  not  the  progress  from  the 
arbitrament  of  brute  force  to  the  arbitrament  of  reason  and  the 
maintenance  of  justice  by  peaceable  methods  in  the  righting 
of  wrongs,  and  in  the  settlement  of  conflicting  opinions  or 
interests?  If  it  were  proposed  to  abolish  our  courts,  and  to 
remand  the  decision  of  difficulties  between  man  and  man  to 
trial  by  single  combat,  or  by  street  fight  between  armed  bands 
enlisted  by  the  contending  parties,  it  would  be  called  a  relapse 
into  barbarism  too  absurd  as  well  as  too  dreadful  to  be  thought 
of.  We  denounce  the  application  of  lynch  law  as  a  practice 
utterly  repugnant  to  the  fundamental  principles  of  civilized 
life,  and  as  a  blot  upon  the  character  of  a  civilized  people. 
What  a  strange  anachronism  it  is  that,  while  we  abhor  the  ar- 
bitrary resort  to  brute  force  in  private  life  as  a  crime  against 
human  society,  the  same  arbitrary  resort  to  brute  force  in  decid- 
ing differences  between  nation  and  nation,  although  infinitely 
more  horrible  in  its  effects,  has  still  remained  the  custom  of 
the  civilized  world,  and  is  surrounded  with  a  halo  of  heroic 
romance!  It  may,  indeed,  be  said  that  it  is  far  more  difficult 
to  find  and  institute  practical  methods  for  the  peaceable  ad- 
justment of  some  kinds  of  disputes  between  nations  than  be- 
tween individuals,  so  that  occasionally  war  remains  the  only 
expedient.  This  is  true,  just  as  it  is  true  that  occasionally 
XXXI  [  19  ] 


WAR 

the  social  order  may  become  so  disturbed  that  the  individual 
man  has  no  refuge  for  the  protection  of  his  rights  except  in  self- 
help  outside  of  the  rule  of  law.  But  in  each  case  this  should 
be  regarded  only  as  the  very  last  extremity  when  everything 
else  fails. 

General  Sherman  once  said:  "You  would  know  what 
war  is?  War  is  hell."  He  knew  what  he  was  speaking  of,  and 
he  meant  it.  Was  it  an  exaggeration  ?  When  the  news  of  the 
destruction  of  the  "  Maine  '*  arrived  we  threw  up  our  hands  in 
horror.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  men  killed  by  the  explosion! 
What  a  frightful  calamity!  Thus  we  feel,  and  thus  we  speak, 
in  a  state  of  peace.  How  in  time  of  war?  Two  hundred  and 
fifty  men  killed?  Only  a  skirmish,  a  slight  brush  with  the 
enemy.  Nothing  of  importance.  A  pitched  battle  comes. 
Five  thousand  killed  and  fifteen  thousand  wounded  on  our 
side ;  the  loss  of  the  enemy  believed  to  be  greater.  A  hard  fight, 
but,  perhaps,  not  decisive.  Then  more  battles ;  more  thousands 
of  killed,  more  tens  of  thousands  of  wounded;  the  hospitals 
crowded  with  countless  multitudes  of  sick.  Naval  fights  also; 
of  those  mysterious  monsters  called  battleships  some  go  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  some  of  our  own  as  well  as  some  of  the  enemy's. 
How  many  men  perish  with  them?  Two  hundred  and  fifty? 
A  mere  trifle.  It  must  be  many  times  two  hundred  and  fifty 
to  make  a  sensation.  What  is  then  our  first  thought?  The 
gaps  must  be  filled,  and  more  of  our  young  men  are  sent  to  the 
front  and  upon  the  ships.  And  the  crowds  of  parents  made 
childless,  and  of  widows  and  orphans!  ''Well,  very  sad,  but 
war  is  war.  Let  us  take  care  of  them  the  best  way  we  can  to 
keep  them  from  starving."  But  more  than  this.  Wherever 
the  armies  operate,  devastation,  ravage,  and  ruin;  wherever 
the  warships  sail,  destruction  of  commerce  and  mutual  havoc 
— the  fruit  of  years  of  patient  industry  and  exertion  ruthlessly 
wiped  out;  and  those  agencies  of  intercourse  and  mutual  ad- 
vancement by  which  modern  civilization  has  made  the  nations 
of  the  world  dependent  upon  one  another  disastrously  inter- 
rupted, and  loss,  desolation,  and  misery  spread  broadcast. 
Was  General  Sherman  wrong  when  he  said  that  "'  war  is  hell"  ? 

But  we  are  told  that  a  nation  needs  a  war  from  time  to 
XXXI  [  20  ] 


WAR 

time  to  prevent  it  from  becoming  effeminate,  to  shake  it  up 
from  demoralizing  materialism,  and  to  elevate  the  popular 
heart  by  awakening  heroic  emotions  and  the  spirit  of  patriotic 
self-sacrifice.  This  has  a  captivating  sound.  But  is  there 
not  something  intensely  ludicrous  in  the  idea  that  the  American 
people,  while  the  rugged  work  of  subduing  this  vast  continent 
to  civilization  is  yet  unfinished,  need  wars  to  save  them  from 
effeminacy  ?  Were  we  more  effeminate  before  our  Civil  War 
than  we  have  been  since  ?  As  to  the  demorahzing  materiaHsm, 
was  the  pursuit  of  money,  the  greed  of  material  possession  and 
enjoyment,  less  prevalent  after  the  Civil  War  than  before  it  ? 
Did  not  the  war  itself  stimulate  that  "materialism"  to  a  degree 
not  known  among  us  before?  As  to  heroic  emotions  and  the 
spirit  of  patriotic  self-sacrifice,  it  is  true  that  war  is  apt  to  call 
forth  splendid  manifestations  of  them.  But  does  war  create 
those  noble  impulses?  ^  Could  it  bring  out  the  manifestations 
of  them  if  they  did  not,  although  unmanifested,  already  exist? 
And  is,  after  all,  the  readiness  to  die  for  one's  country  the  sum 
oi  all  bravery  ?  Is  there  no  call  for  heroic  emotions  and  patriotic 
self-sacrifice  in  a  state  of  peace  ?  Is  not  a  patient  and  faithful 
struggle  for  the  truth  against  the  fanaticism  of  prejudice,  and 
for  justice  against  arrogant  power,  as  brave  a  feat  as  the 
storming  of  a  battery?  And  is  not  that  civic  virtue  more 
rare  than  the  physical  courage  of  the  soldier,  and,  on  the 
whole,  more  needful  to  the  republic?  On  the  other  hand, 
while  war  calls  forth  demonstrations  of  heroic  spirit,  does  it 
not  also  stimulate  the  baser  passions  of  a  larger  number? 
Have  we  ever  heard  of  a  war  which,  whatever  great  objects 
it  may  otherwise  have  served,  improved  private  or  public 
morals  or  stimulated  the  cultivation  of  those  quiet  and  un- 
ostentatious civic  virtues  which  are  liiost  needful  to  the  vitality 
of  free  government? 

But  we  are  told  that  there  are  things  worse  than  war.  No 
doubt.  Loss  of  honor  and  self-respect,  for  instance.  Surely 
we  should  not  tamely  accept  a  deliberate  insult;  but  neither 
should  we  by  offensive  bluster  provoke  one.  We  should  preserve 
our  self-respect,  but  also  respect  the  self-respect  of  others. 
We  should  not  submit  to  manifest  wrong,  but  we  should  not 

XXXI  [  21  ] 


WAR 

forget  that  others  too  have  rights ;  and  we  must  not  see  a  wrong 
irremediable,  except  by  war,  in  every  difference  of  opinion  or 
clash  of  interest.  Whenever  the  question  of  redress  or  remedy 
is  to  be  settled,  we  should  not  forget  that  "war  is  hell,"  and 
that  a  war  honorably  averted  is  a  nobler  achievement  than 
a  battle  won. 

But  will  not  this  horror  of  war  at  last  make  cringing 
cowards  of  us  all  ?  No  danger  of  that.  Whatever  our  love  of 
peace,  when  the  republic  needs  defenders,  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  her  sons  will  eagerly  rush  to  arms,  and  the  people  will 
pour  forth  their  wealth  without  stint,  no  matter  if  "war  is  hell." 
Of  this  there  will  never  be  doubt.  No  peace  feeling  can  emas- 
culate our  patriotism.  The  danger  lies  in  the  opposite  direction. 
It  is  that  the  popular  mind  may  too  easily  forget  that  war  is 
justifiable  only  when  all  resources  of  statesmanship  to  avert 
it  have  been  exhausted,  and  when  the^true  value  of  the  object 
to  be  accomplished  through  it  outweighs  the  blood  and  loss  of 
wealth  and  human  misery  and  demoralization  it  will  cost. 
This  being  the  temper  of  a  high-spirited  people,  so  much  more 
do  the  fiends  who  seek  to  drive  the  nation  into  unnecessary 
war  by  false  reports  or  by  unscrupulous  appeals  to  prejudice 
and  passion  deserve  to  be  execrated  by  all  good  men,  and  so 
much  more  gratitude  is  due  to  those  in  power  who,  firmly 
resisting  the  screams  of  a  reckless  demagogy,  know  no  higher 
duty  than  to  spare  the  people  the  scourge  of  war  so  long  as  the 
blessing  of  peace  can  honorably  be  preserved. 


XXXI  [  22  ] 


XXXII 


ARBITRATION 

"A  LEAGUE  OF  PEACE" 

BY 

ANDREW  CARNEGIE,  LL.D. 

LORD    RECTOR    OP    ST.    ANDREW'S    UNIVERSITY 


TF  war  he  indeed,  as  both  President  Jordan  and  Mr.  Schurz 
■^  have  urged  upon  us,  an  economic  blunder  as  well  as  a 
crime,  a  costly  jolly  at  its  best,  and  brutal  murder  at  its  worst, 
what  chance  is  there  that  we  may  escape  it  wholly,  that  some 
day  it  may  become,  as  slavery  and  darker  nameless  evils  have 
become,  a  crudity  oj  the  barbaric  past,  the  last  outgrown  relic 
oj  the  ape-man,  whose  very  existence  depended  on  the  fierceness 
of  tooth  and  claw?  We  have  all  heard  more  or  less  doubtfully 
and  dubiously  of  recent  peace  congresses,  most  of  us  with  little 
hope  of  their  achieving  practical  results.  No  busy  man  has 
read  or  heard  all  the  eloquent  speeches  delivered  at  all  the  sessions 
of  this  kind.  But  let  us  take  one  only  of  these,  the  practical 
outlook  of  an  eminently  practical  man.  When  recently  the 
University  of  St.  Andrew^ s  in  his  native  Scotland  conferred  on 
Mr.  Carnegie  the  high  honor  of  re-electing  him  its  Rector,  he 
chose  the  occasion  of  his  inaugural,  when  he  knew  that  all  the 
world  would  be  listening  and  intent,  he  chose  that  occasion  to 
explain  fully  the  practical  outlook  of  what  he  hoped  might  be 
achieved  toward  universal  peace.  We  deal  here,  therefore,  with 
no  vague  theories,  no  flights  of  poetic  fancy,  but  with  earnest, 
simple  truth.  For  all  who  would  know  what  peace  congresses 
really  mean,  the  address  is  worth  studying. 
XXXII  [  I  ] 


ARBITRATION 

Principal  and  Students  oj  St.  Andrew'' s:  My  first  words 
must  be  words  of  thanks,  very  grateful  thanks,  to  those  who 
have  so  kindly  re-elected  me  their  Rector  without  a  contest. 
The  honor  is  deeply  appreciated,  I  assure  you.  There  is  one 
feature,  at  least,  connected  with  your  choice  upon  which  I 
may  venture  to  congratulate  you,  and  also  the  university — 
the  continuance  of  the  services  of  my  able  and  zealous  assessor. 
Dr.  Ross  of  Dunfermline,  which  I  learn  are  highly  valued. 

My  young  constituents,  you  are  busily  preparing  to  play 
your  parts  in  the  drama  of  Kfe,  resolved,  I  trust,  to  oppose  and 
attack  what  is  evil,  to  defend  and  strengthen  what  is  good, 
and,  if  possible,  to  leave  your  part  of  the  world  a  little  better 
than  you  found  it.  You  are  already  pondering  over  the  career 
you  will  pursue,  what  problems  you  will  study,  upon  what, 
and  how,  your  powers  can  be  most  profitably  exerted;  and 
apart  from  the  choice  of  a  career  I  trust  you  ask  yourself  what 
are  the  evils  of  this  life,  in  which  all  our  duties  lie,  which  you 
should  most  strenuously  endeavor  to  eradicate  or  at  least  to 
lessen, — what  causes  you  will  espouse,  giving  preference  to 
these  beyond  all  other  public  questions,  for  the  student  of  St. 
Andrew's  is  expected  to  devote  both  time  and  labor  to  his  duties 
as  a  citizen,  whatever  his  professional  career.  You  will  find 
the  world  much  better  than  your  forefathers  did.  There  is 
profound  satisfaction  in  this,  that  all  grows  better;  but  there 
is  still  one  evil  in  our  day,  so  far  exceeding  any  other  in  extent 
and  effect,  that  I  venture  to  bring  it  to  your  notice. 

Polygamy  and  slavery  have  been  abolished  by  civilized 
nations.  Duelling  no  longer  exists  where  English  is  spoken. 
The  right  of  private  war  and  of  privateering  have  passed  away. 
Many  other  beneficent  abolitions  have  been  made  in  various 
fields;  but  there  still  remains  the  foulest  blot  that  has  ever 
disgraced  the  earth,  the  killing  of  civilized  men  by  men  like 
wild  beasts  as  a  permissible  mode  of  settling  international 
disputes,  although  in  Rousseau's  words,  **War  is  the  foulest 
fiend  ever  vomited  forth  from  the  mouth  of  hell."  As  such, 
it  has  received  from  the  earliest  times,  in  each  successive  age 
till  now,  the  fiercest  denunciations  of  the  holiest,  wisest,  and  best 
of  men. 

XXXII  [  2  ] 


ARBITRATION 

Homer,  about  eight  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  Christ, 
tells  us  it  is  by  no  means  fit  for  a  man  stained  with  blood  and 
gore  to  pray  to  the  gods,  and  that  "Religious, social, and  domes- 
tic tics  alike  he  violates,  who  willingly  would  court  the  honors 
of  internal  strife."     ("  IlHad,"  IX.,  63.) 

He  makes  Zeus,  the  Cloud- Gatherer,  look  sternly  at  Ares, 
the  God  of  War,  saying:  "Nay,  thou  renegade,  sit  not  by  me 
and  whine.  Most  hateful  art  thou  to  me  of  all  the  gods  that 
dwell  in  Olympus ;  thou  ever  lovest  strife,  and  wars,  and  battles." 
("Iliad,"  v.,  line  891.) 

Euripides,  480-406  B.C.,  cries:  "Hapless  mortals,  why  do 
ye  get  your  spears  and  deal  out  death  to  fellow -men?  Stay  I 
from  such  work  forbear!"  .  .  .  "  Oh  fools  all  ye  who  try  to  win 
the  meed  of  valor  through  war,  seeldng  thus  to  still  this  mortal 
coil,  for,  if  bloody  contests  are  to  decide,  strife  will  never  cease  I" 

Thucydid'es,  who  wrote  his  great  work  sometime  between 
423  B.C.  and  403  B.C.,  asserts  that  "Wars  spring  from  unseen 
and  generally  insignificant  causes,  the  first  outbreak  being  often 
but  an  explosion  of  anger."  And  he  gives  us  the  needed  lesson 
for  our  day  which  should  be  accepted  as  an  axiom:  "It  is 
wicked  to  proceed  against  him  as  a  wrongdoer  who  is  ready 
to  refer  the  question  to  arbitration."  Aristides  praised  Pericles, 
because,  to  avoid  war,  "  he  is  willing  to  accept  arbitration." 

Andocides,  about  440-388  B.C.,  says:  "Then  this  is  the 
distinction,  Athenians,  which  I  draw  between  the  two:  peace 
means  security  for  the  people,  war  inevitable  downfall." 

Isocrates,  436-338  B.C.,  teaches  that  "Peace  should  be 
made  with  all  mankind.  It  should  be  our  care  not  only  to  make 
peace,  but  to  maintain  it.  But  this  wdll  never  be  until  we  are 
persuaded  that  quiet  is  better  than  disturbance,  justice  than 
injustice,  the  care  of  our  own  than  grasping  at  what  belongs 
to  others."     ("Oration  on  Peace.") 

The  sacred  books  of  the  east  make  peace  their  chief  concern. 
"Thus  does  he  (Buddha)  live  as  a  binder  together  of  those  who 
are  divided,  an  encourager  of  those  who  are  friends,  a  peace- 
maker, a  lover  of  peace,  impassioned  for  peace,  a  speaker  of 
words  that  make  for  peace."  ("Buddhist  Suttas,"  fifth  cen- 
tury B.C.)  "Now,  wherein  is  his  conduct  good?  Herein,  that 
XXXII  [  3  ] 


ARBITRATION 

putting  away  the  murder  of  that  which  lives,  he  abstains  from 
destroying  life.  The  cudgel  and  the  sword  he  lays  aside,  and, 
full  of  modesty  and  pity,  he  is  compassionate  and  kind  to  all 
creatures  that  have  life."     (''Buddhist  Suttas.") 

"Truly  is  the  King  our  sovereign  Lord!  He  has  regulated 
the  position  of  the  princes ;  he  has  called  in  shields  and  spears ; 
he  has  returned  to  their  cases  bows  and  arrows."  ("The  Shik 
Kihg,"  Decade  L,  Ode  lo.)  , 

Many  hundred  years  before  Christ  the  Zendavesta  pro- 
nounces "Opposition  to  peace  is  a  sin." 

The  Buddhist  commandment,  six  hundred  years  before 
our  era,  is  "Love  all  mankind  equally." 

"To  those  of  a  noble  disposition,  the  whole  world  is  but  one 
family,"  says  the  Hindu. 

Coming  to  the  Romans,  Cicero  (106-43  ^-c)  says:  "War 
should  only  be  undertaken  by  a  highly  civilized  state  to  preserve 
either  its  religion  or  its  existence."  "There  are  two  ways  of 
ending  a  dispute — discussion  and  force:  the  latter  manner  is 
simply  that  of  the  brute  beasts;  the  former  is  proper  to  beings 
gifted  with  reason."  He  also  reminds  the  Senate,  "For  in  this 
assembly,  before  the  matter  was  decided,  I  said  many  things 
in  favor  of  peace,  and  even  while  war  was  going  on  I  retained  the 
same  opinions,  even  at  the  risk  of  my  own  Hfe."  No  better 
proof  of  the  true  patriot  and  leader  can  be  given  than  this — 
a  lesson  much  needed  in  our  day. 

Sallust  (86-34  B.C.)  recounts:  "But  after  the  Senate  learned 
of  the  war  between  them,  three  young  men  were  chosen  to  go 
out  to  Africa  to  both  Kings,  and  in  the  words  of  the  Senate, 
and  of  the  people,  announce  to  them  that  it  was  their  will  and 
advice  that  they  lay  down  their  arms  and  '  settle  their  disputes 
by  arbitration  rather  than  by  the  sword;  since  to  act  thus 
would  be  to  the  honor  both  of  the  Romans  and  themselves.'  " 

("Jugurtha,"XXL,  4.) 

Virgil  (70-19  B.C.)  laments  that  "The  love  of  arms  and  the 
mad  wickedness  of  war  are  raging.  ...  As  for  me,  just  come 
from  war  and  reeking  with  fresh  slaughter,  it  would  be  criminal 
for  me  to  touch  the  gods  till  I  shall  have  washed  the  pollution 
in  the  running  stream." 

xxxn  [  4 ] 


ARBITRATION 

From  Seneca  (4  B.C.-65  a.d.)  we  have  this  outburst: 
''We  punish  murders  and  massacres  among  private  persons; 
what  do  we  respecting  wars,  and  the  glorious  crime  of  murdering 
whole  nations?"  .  .  .  "The  love  of  a  conquest  is  a  murderess. 
Conquerers  are  scourges  not  less  harmful  to  humanity  than 
floods  and  earthquakes." 

Tacitus  shrewdly  observes:  "To  be  sure  every  wicked  man 
has  the  greatest  power  in  stirring  up  tumult  and  discord; 
peace  and  quiet  need  the  quahties  of  good  men."  ("  Historiae," 
IV.,  I.)  This  is  why  the  demagogue  comes  to  the  surface, 
to  inflame  the  passions  of  the  multitude,  that  he  may  ride  to 
power  upon  them.  Beware  of  the  man  who  leads  you  into 
war. 

Josephus,  born  only  thirty-eight  years  after  Christ,  writes: 
"David  said,  'I  was  wiUing  to  build  God  a  temple  myself, 
but  he  prohibited  me,  because  I  was  polluted  with  blood  and 
wars.'  " 

Plutarch,  born  46  a.d.,  holds  that  "There  is  no  war 
among  men  not  born  of  wickedness;  some  are  aroused  by 
desire  of  pleasures,  others  by  too  great  eagerness  for  influence 
and  power." 

Such  are  a  few  examples  from  the  testimony  of  the  ancients. 

I  now  sohcit  your  attention  to  the  views  held  and  expressed 
by  the  early  Christian  fathers,  which  cannot  but  be  of  special 
importance  to  such  of  you  as  are  theological  students. 

Justin  Martyr,  who  died  about  165  a.d.,  proclaims:  "That 
the  prophecy  is  fulfilled  we  have  good  reason  to  believe,  for 
we  (Christians),  who  in  the  past  killed  one  another,  do  not 
now  fight  our  enemies." 

St.  Irenaeus,  about  140-202  a.d.,  boasts  that  "The  Christians 
have  changed  their  swords  and  their  lances  into  instruments 
of  peace,  and  they  know  not  how  to  fight." 

Clement  of  Alexandria,  whose  works  were  composed  in  the 
end  of  the  second  century  and  beginning  of  the  third,  writes: 
''The  followers  of  Christ  use  none  of  the  implements  of  war." 

TertulHan,  about  150-230  a.d.,  asks:  "How  shall  a  Chris- 
tian go  to  war,  how  shall  he  carry  arms  in  time  of  peace,  when 
the  Lord  has  forbidden  the  sword  to  us  ?  .  .  -  Jesus  Christ, 
XXXII  [  5  ] 


ARBITRATION 

in  disarming  St.  Peter,  disarmed  all  soldiers."  (''  De  Idololatr.," 
19.)  "The  military  oath  and  the  baptismal  vow  are  inconsis- 
tent with  each  other,  the  one  being  the  sign  of  Christ,  the  other 
of  the  Devil."  .  .  .  "Shall  it  be  held  lawful  to  make  an  oc- 
cupation of  the  sword,  when  the  Lord  proclaims  that  he  who 
uses  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword  ?  " 

Origen,  185-254  a.d.,  says:  "The  angels  wonder  that  peace 
is  come  through  Jesus  to  earth,  for  it  is  a  place  ridden  with 
wars."  "This  is  called  peace,  where  none  is  at  variance, 
nothing  is  out  of  harmony,  where  there  is  nothing  hostile, 
nothing  barbarian."  "For  no  longer  do  we  (Christians)  take 
arms  against  any  race,  or  learn  to  wage  war,  inasmuch  as  we 
have  been  made  sons  of  peace  through  Jesus,  whom  we  follow 
as  our  leader."  ("Patrologia  Graeca,"  XIV.,  pp.  46,  988, 
1231.) 

St.  Cyprian,  about  200-257  a.d.,  boasts  that  "  Christians  do 
not  in  turn  assail  their  assailants,  since  it  is  not  lawful  for  the 
innocent  even  to  kill  the  guilty ;  but  they  readily  dehver  up  their 
lives  and  blood."     (Epistle  56,  to  Cornelius,  section  2.) 

Arnobius,  who  wrote  about  295  a.d.,  says:  "Certainly,  if 
all  who  look  upon  themselves  as  men  would  listen  a  while  unto 
Christ's  wholesome  and  peaceable  decrees,  the  whole  world 
long  ago,  turning  the  use  of  iron  to  milder  works,  should  have 
lived  in  most  quiet  tranquillity,  and  have  met  together  in  a  firm 
and  indissoluble  league  of  most  safe  concord."  ("Ad versus 
Gentes, "  Lib.  L,  page  6.) 

Lactantius,  who  wrote  in  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  century, 
insists  that  "It  can  never  be  lawful  for  a  righteous  man  to  go 
to  war,  for  his  warfare  is  unrighteous  itself."  "It  is  not  mur- 
der that  God  rebukes;  the  civil  laws  punish  that.  God's 
prohibition  is  intended  for  those  acts  which  men  considered 
lawful.  Therefore  it  is  not  permitted  for  a  Christian  to  bear 
arms;  justice  is  his  armor.  The  divine  command  admits  no 
exceptions;  man  is  sacred  and  it  is  always  a  crime  to  take 
his  life."  ("Div.  Inst.,"  VL,  20.)  Thus  docs  he  declaim 
against  men-slayers:  "This,  then,  is  your  road  to  immortality. 
To  destroy  cities,  devastate  territories,  exterminate  or  enslave 
free  peoples !  The  more  you  have  ruined,  robbed,  and  murdered 
XXXII  [  6  ] 


ARBITRATION 

men,  the  more  you  think  yourselves  noble  and  illustrious." 
C'Div.  Inst.,"  I.,  48.) 

Athanasius,  296-373  a.d.,  states  that  when  people  ''hear 
the  teaching  of  Christ,  straightway  instead  of  fighting  they 
turn  to  husbandry,  and  instead  of  arming  their  hands  with 
weapons  they  raise  them  in  prayer."  ("Incarnation  of  the 
Word,"  section  52.) 

St.  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  335-395  a.d.,  preaches  that  "He 
who  promises  you  profit,  if  you  abstain  from  the  ills  of  war, 
bestows  on  you  two  gifts — one  the  remission  from  the  train  of 
evils  attendant  on  the  strife,  the  other  the  strife  itself."  ("  Patro- 
logia  Graeca,"  XLIV.,  p.  1282.) 

St.  Augustine,  354-430  a.d.,  declares  that  "Not  to  keep 
peace  is  to  spurn  Christ."  ("Migne's  Patrologia  Latina," 
XXXIIL,  p.  186.)  He  holds  that  "defensive  wars  are  the  only 
just  and  lawful  ones;  it  is  in  these  alone  that  the  soldier  may 
be  allowed  to  kill,  when  he  cannot  otherwise  protect  his  city 
and  his  brethren."     (Letter  47.) 

Isidore  of  Pclusium,  370-450  a.d.,  is  no  less  outspoken: 
"I  say,  although  the  slaughter  of  enemies  in  war  may  seem 
legitimate,  although  the  columns  to  the  victors  are  erected, 
telling  of  their  illustrious  crimes,  yet  if  account  be  taken  of  the 
undeniable  and  supreme  brotherhood  of  man,  not  even  these 
are    free    from    evil."     ("Patrologia    Graeca,"  LXXVIIL,  p. 

1287.) 

We  have  also  the  undisputed  historical  record  of  Maximil- 
ian, the  centurion,  who,  having  embraced  Christianity,  resigned 
his  position  and  refused  to  fight.     For  this  he  was  put  to  death. 

Celsus,  the  great  opponent  of  Christianity,  who  wrote  about 
176  A.D.,  reproaches  the  Christians  for  refusing  to  bear  arms, 
and  states  that  in  one  part  of  the  Roman  army,  including 
one-third  of  the  whole,  "Not  a  Christian  could  be  found." 

Martin  replied  to  Julian  the  Apostate,  "I  am  a  Christian, 
and  I  cannot  fight." 

If  we  turn  to  the  Popes,  who  were  then  supreme: 

St.  Gregory  the  Great,  540-604   a.d.,  writes  the   King  of 
the  Lombards,  "By  choosing  peace  you  have  shown  yourself 
a  lover  of  God,  who  is  its  author." 
XXXII  [  7  ] 


ARBITRATION 

Pope  Innocent  III.,  to  the  King  of  France,  in  protest  against 
the  wars  between  Philip  Augustus  and  Richard  of  England, 
writes:  "At  the  moment  when  Jesus  Christ  is  about  to  com- 
plete the  mystery  of  redemption.  He  gives  peace  as  a  heritage 
to  His  disciples ;  He  wills  that  they  observe  it  among  themselves 
and  make  it  observed  by  others.  What  He  says  at  His  death. 
He  confirms  after  His  resurrection.  '  Peace  be  with  you. '  These 
are  the  first  words  which  He  addressed  to  His  Apostles.  Peace 
is  the  expression  of  that  love  which  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law. 
What  is  more  contrary  to  love  than  the  quarrels  of  men? 
Born  of  hate,  they  destroy  every  bond  of  affection;  and  shall 
he  who  loves  not  his  neighbor  love  God?" 

Erasmus  declares:  ''If  there  is  in  the  affairs  of  mortal  men 
any  one  thing  which  it  is  proper  to  explode,  and  incumbent 
upon  every  man  by  every  lawful  means  to  avoid,  to  deprecate, 
to  oppose,  that  one  thing  is  doubtless  war." 

Luther  declares :"  Cannons  and  firearms  are  cruel  and  dam- 
nable machines.  I  believe  them  to  have  been  the  direct  sugges- 
tion of  the  devil.  If  Adam  had  seen  in  vision  the  horrible 
instruments  his  children  were  to  invent,  he  would  have  died 
of  grief." 

Nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that  the  leaders  of  Christianity 
immediately  succeeding  Christ,  from  whom  authentic  expres- 
sions of  doctrines  have  come  down  to  us,  were  well  assured  that 
their  Master  had  forbidden  to  the  Christian  the  killing  of  men 
in  war  or  enhsting  in  the  legions.  One  of  the  chief  differences 
which  separated  Roman  non- Christians  and  Christians  was  the 
refusal  of  the  latter  to  enlist  in  the  legions  and  be  thus  bound 
to  kill  their  fellows  in  war  as  directed.  We  may  well  ponder 
over  the  change,  and  wonder  that  Christian  priests  accompany 
the  armies  of  our  day,  and  even  dare  to  approach  the  Unknown, 
beseeching  his  protection  and  favor  for  soldiers  in  their  heinous 
work.  When  the  warring  hosts  are  Christian  nations,  worship- 
ping the  one  God,  which,  alas,  is  not  seldom,  as  in  the  last  gigan- 
tic orgy  of  human  slaughter  in  Europe,  we  had  the  spectacle 
of  the  rival  priests,  praying  in  the  name  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
to  the  God  of  Battles  for  favor.  Similar  prayers  were  offered  in 
the  churches,  where  in  some  instances  battlefiags,  the  emblems 
XXXII  [  8  ] 


ARBITRATION 

of  carnage,  were  displayed.  Future  ages  are  to  pronounce 
all  this  blasphemous.  There  are  those  of  to-day  who  deplore 
it  deeply.  Even  the  pagan,  before  Christ,  direct  from  human 
butchery,  refrained  from  appeahng  to  his  gods  without  first 
cleansing  himself  of  the  accruing  pollution. 

It  is  a  truism  that  the  doctrines  of  all  founders  of  rehgions 
have  undergone  modifications  in  practice,  but  it  is  strange 
indeed  that  the  doctrine  of  Christ  regarding  war  and  warriors, 
as  held  by  his  immediate  followers,  should  have  been  so  com- 
pletely discarded  and  reversed  in  the  later  centuries,  and  is  so 
still. 

Bentham's  words  cannot  be  overlooked:  "Nothing  can  be 
worse  than  the  general  feeHng  on  the  subject  of  war.  The 
church,  the  state,  the  ruling  few,  the  subject  man,  all  seem  in 
this  case  to  have  combined  to  patronize  vice  and  crime  in  their 
widest  sphere  of  evil.  Dress  a  man  in  particular  garments, 
call  him  by  a  particular  name,  and  he  shall  have  authority, 
on  divers  occasions,  to  commit  every  species  of  offence — to 
pillage,  to  murder,  to  destroy  human  felicity;  and  for  so  doing 
he  shall  be  rewarded.  The  period  will  surely  arrive  when 
better  instructed  generations  will  require  all  the  evidence 
of  history  to  credit  that,  in  times  deeming  themselves  enlight- 
ened, human  beings  should  have  been  honored  with  public 
approval  in  the  very  proportion  of  the  misery  they  caused." 

Bacon's  words  come  to  mind:  ''I  am  of  opinion  that,  ex- 
cept you  bray  Christianity  in  a  mortar  and  mould  it  into  new 
paste,  there  is  no  possibility  of  a  holy  war." 

Apparently  in  no  field  of  its  work  in  our  times  does  the  Chris- 
tian church  throughout  the  whole  world,  with  outstanding 
individual  exceptions  of  course,  so  conspicuously  fail  as  in  its 
attitude  to  war— judged  by  the  standard  maintained  by  the 
early  Christian  fathers  nearest  in  time  to  Christ.  Its  silence 
when  outspoken  speech  might  avert  war,  its  silence  during  war's 
sway,  its  failure  even  during  calm  days  of  peace  to  proclaim 
the  true  Christian  doctrine  regarding  the  kilHng  of  men  made 
in  God's  image,  and  the  prostitution  of  its  holy  offices  to  unholy 
warlike  ends,  give  point  to  the  recent  arraignment  of  Prime 
Minister  Balfour,  who  declared  that  the  church  to-day  busies 
xxxn  [  9 ] 


ARBITRATION 

itself  with  questions  which  do  not  weigh  even  as  dust  in  the 
balance  compared  with  the  vital  problems  with  which  it  is 
called  upon  to  deal. 

Volumes  could  be  filled  with  the  denunciations  of  war  by 
the  great  moderns.     Only  a  few  can  be  given. 

Lord  Clarendon,  1608-1674,  says:  ''We  cannot  make  a 
more  lively  representation  and  emblem  to  ourselves  of  hell 
than  by  the  view  of  a  kingdom  in  war." 

Hume  says:  "The  rage  and  violence  of  public  war,  what  is 
it  but  a  suspension  of  justice  among  the  warring  parties?" 

Gibbon  writes:  "A  single  robber  or  a  few  associates  are 
branded  with  their  genuine  name ;  but  the  exploits  of  a  numer- 
ous band  assume  the  character  of  lawful  and  honorable  war." 

"In  every  battlefield  we  see  an  inglorious  arena  of  human 
degradation,"  says  Conway. 

A  strong  voice  from  a  St.  Andrew's  principal  is  heard.  Sir 
David  Brewster,  1 781-1868,  says:  "Nothing  in  the  history  of 
the  species  appears  more  inexplicable  than  that  war,  the  child 
of  barbarism,  should  exist  in  an  age  enlightened  and  civilized. 
But  it  is  more  inexplicable  still  that  war  should  exist  where 
Christianity  has  for  nearly  two  thousand  years  been  shedding 
its  gentle  light,  and  should  be  defended  by  arguments  drawn 
from  the  Scriptures  themselves." 

One  of  the  greatest  American  secretaries  of  state.  Col. 
John  Hay,  who  has  lately  passed  away,  denounced  war  as 
**the  most  futile  and  ferocious  of  human  folHes." 

Much  has  man  accomplished  in  his  upward  march  from 
savagery.  Much  that  was  evil  and  disgraceful  has  been  ban- 
ished from  life;  but  the  indelible  mark  of  war  still  remains 
to  stain  the  earth  and  discredit  our  claim  to  civilization.  After 
all  our  progress,  human  slaughter  is  still  with  us;  but  I  ask  your 
attention  for  a  few  minutes  to  many  bright  rays,  piercing  the 
dark  cloud,  which  encourage  us.  Consider  for  a  moment  what 
war  was  in  days  past.  It  knew  no  laws,  had  no  restrictions. 
Poison  and  assassination  of  opposing  rulers  and  generals  ar- 
ranged by  private  bargain,  and  deceptive  agreements,  were 
legitimate  weapons.  Prisoners  were  massacred  or  enslaved. 
No  quarter  was  given.  Enemies  were  tortured  and  mutilated. 
XXXII  [  10  ] 


ARBITRATION 

Women,  children,  and  non-combatants  were  not  spared.  Wells 
were  poisoned.  Private  property  was  not  respected.  Pillage 
was  the  rule.  Privateering  and  private  war  were  allowed. 
Neutral  rights  at  sea  were  almost  unknown. 

Permit  me  briefly  to  trace  the  history  of  the  reforms  in  war 
which  have  been  achieved,  from  which  we  draw  encourage- 
ment to  labor  for  its  abolition,  strong  in  the  faith  that  the  days 
of  man-slaying  are  numbered. 

The  first  action  against  the  savage  custom  of  war  is  found 
in  the  rules  of  the  Amphictyonic  Council  of  the  Greeks,  some 
three  hundred  years  before  Christ.  Hellenes  were  "to  quarrel 
as  those  who  intend  some  day  to  be  reconciled."  They  were  to 
"use  friendly  correction,  and  not  to  devastate  Hellas  or  burn 
houses,  or  think  that  the  whole  population  of  a  city,  men, 
women,  and  children,  were  equally  their  enemies  and  therefore 
to  be  destroyed." 

We  owe  chiefly  to  Grotius  the  modern  movement  to  subject 
hitherto  lawless  war  on  land  and  sea  to  the  humane  restraints 
of  law.  His  first  book,  "MareLiberum,"  appeared  in  1609. 
It  soon  attracted  such  attention  that  Britain  had  to  employ 
her  greatest  legal  authority,  Lord  Selden,  to  make  reply.  Up 
to  this  time  Spain,  Portugal,  and  Britain  had  maintained  that 
the  surrounding  seas  were  closed  to  all  countries  except  those 
upon  their  shores,  a  doctrine  not  formally  abandoned  by 
Britain  until  1803. 

Grotius's  second  and  epoch-making  work,  "The  Rights  of 
War  and  Peace,"  appeared  in  1625,  and  immediately  arrested 
the  attention  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  greatest  warrior  of 
his  time.  A  copy  was  found  in  his  tent  when  he  died  on  the 
field  of  Liitzen.  He  stood  constantly  for  mercy,  even  in  those 
barbarous  days.  Three  years  after  its  appearance.  Cardinal 
Richelieu,  to  the  amazement  of  Europe,  spared  the  Huguenot 
garrison  and  protected  the  city  of  Rochelle,  when  he  was  ex- 
pected to  follow  the  usual  practice  of  massacring  the  defenders 
and  giving  the  town  and  inhabitants  over  to  massacre  and  pillage. 
It  was  then  holy  work  to  slay  heretics,  sparing  not  one.  He 
was  denounced  for  this  merciful  act  by  his  own  party  and 
hailed  as  "Cardinal  of  Satan"  and  "Pope  of  the  Atheists." 
XXXII  [11] 


ARBITRATION 

The  Treaty  of  Westphalia  in  1648,  three  years  after  the  death 
of  Grotius,  closed  the  Thirty  Years'  War  in  Germany,  the 
Eighty  Years'  War  in  the  Netherlands,  and  a  long  era  of  sav- 
agery in  many  parts  of  the  globe.  It  shows  clearly  the  influence 
of  Grotius 's  advanced  ideas,  being  founded  upon  his  doctrine 
of  the  essential  independence  and  equality  of  all  sovereign 
states,  and  the  laws  of  justice  and  mercy.  In  the  progress 
of  man  from  war  lawless  and  savage,  to  war  restricted  and 
obedient  to  international  law,  no  name  is  entitled  to  rank  with 
his.  He  is  the  father  of  modern  international  law,  so  far  as 
it  deals  with  the  rights  of  peace  and  war.  He  has  had  several 
eminent  successors,  especially  Puffendorf,  Bynkershock,  and 
Vattel.  These  four  are  called  by  Phillimore  "The  Umpires 
of  International  Disputes."  They  are  followed  closely  by  a 
second  quartette,  the  British  judge — Stowell,  and  the  American 
judges — Marshall,  Story,  and  Field. 

International  law  is  unique  in  one  respect.  It  has  no 
material  force  behind  it.  It  is  a  proof  of  the  supreme  force 
of  gentleness — the  irresistible  pressure  and  final  triumph  of 
what  is  just  and  merciful.  To  the  few  who  have  contributed 
conspicuously  to  its  growth  in  the  past,  and  to  those  laboring 
therein  to-day,  civilization  owes  an  unpayable  debt.  Private 
individuals  have  created  it,  and  yet  the  nations  have  been  glad 
to  accept.  British  judges  have  repeatedly  declared  that  "In- 
ternational law  is  in  full  force  in  Britain."  It  is  so  in  America 
and  other  countries.  We  have  in  this  self-created,  self -develop- 
ing, and  self -forcing  agency  one  of  the  two  most  powerful  and 
beneficial  instruments  for  the  peace  and  progress  of  the  world. 

The  most  important  recent  reforms  effected  in  the  laws  of 
war  are  those  of  the  Treaty  of  Paris  (1856),  the  Treaty  of 
Washington  (1871),  which  settled  the  Alabama  claims,  and 
the  Brussels  Declaration  of  1874. 

The  Treaty  of  Paris  marks  an  era  as  having  enshrined 
certain  principles.  First,  it  abolished  privateering.  Hence- 
forth, war  on  tlie  sea  is  confined  to  national  warships,  organized 
and  manned  by  officers  and  men  in  the  service  of  the  state. 
Commerce  is  no  longer  subject  to  attack  by  private  adventurers 
seeking  spoil.  Second,  it  ruled  that  a  blockade  to  be  recognized 
XXXII  [12] 


ARBITRATION 

must  be  effective.  Third,  it  established  the  doctrine  that  an 
enemy's  goods  in  a  neutral  ship  are  free,  except  contraband. 
These  are  great  steps  forward. 

America  declined  to  accept  the  first  (in  which,  however, 
she  has  now  concurred)  unless  private  property  was  totally 
exempt  on  sea  as  on  land,  for  which  she  has  long  contended, 
and  which  the  powers,  except  Britain,  have  generally  favored. 
So  strongly  has  the  current  set  recently  in  its  favor  that  hopes 
are  entertained  that  the  forthcoming  conference  at  The  Hague 
may  reach  this  desirable  result.  It  is  the  final  important  ad-" 
vance  in  this  direction  that  remains  to  be  made,  and  means 
that  peaceful  commerce  has  been  rescued  from  the  demon 
war.  Should  it  be  made,  the  trenchers  of  St.  Andrew's  students 
may  well  whirl  in  the  air  with  cheers. 

The  Treaty  of  Washington  is  probably  to  rank  in  history 
as  Mr.  Gladstone's  greatest  service,  because  it  settled  by  ar- 
bitration the  Alabama  claims,  a  question  fraught  with  danger 
and  which,  if  left  open,  would  probably  have  driven  apart 
and  kept  hostile  to  each  other  for  a  long  period  the  two  branches 
of  the  Enghsh-speaking  race.  A  statesman  less  powerful  with 
the  great  masses  of  his  countrymen  could  not  have  carried  the 
healing  measure,  for  much  had  to  be  conceded  by  Britain, 
for  which  it  deserves  infinite  credit.  Three  propositions  were 
insisted  upon  by  America  as  a  basis  for  arbitration,  and  although 
all  were  reasonable  and  should  have  been  part  of  international 
law,  still  they  were  not.  Their  fairness  being  recognized, 
Mr.  Gladstone  boldly  and  magnanimously  agreed  that  the 
arbiters  should  be  guided  by  them.  These  defined  very  clearly 
the  duties  of  neutrals  respecting  the  fitting  out  of  ships  of  war 
in  their  ports,  or  the  use  of  their  ports  as  a  naval  base.  This 
they  must  now  use  ''due  diligence"  to  prevent. 

Morley  says,  in  his  Life  of  Gladstone:  "The  Treaty  of 
Washington  and  the  Geneva  arbitration  stand  out  as  the  most 
noble  victory  in  the  nineteenth  century  of  the  noble  art  of  pre- 
ventive diplomacy,  and  the  most  signal  exhibition  in  their  his- 
tory of  self-command  in  two  of  three  chief  democratic  powers 
of  the  Western  World." 

The  Brussels  Convention  met  in  1874. 
xxxn  [ 13 ] 


ARBITRATION 

Even  as  late  as  the  earlier  half  of  last  century  the  giving 
up  of  towns  and  their  inhabitants  to  the  fury  of  the  troops  which 
stormed  them  was  permitted  by  the  usages  of  war.  Defending 
his  conduct  in  Spain,  WeUington  says:  "I  beheve  it  has  always 
been  understood  that  defenders  of  a  fortress  stormed  have  no 
right  to  quarter."  After  the  storming  of  San  Sebastian,  as 
to  plunder,  he  says :  "It  has  fallen  to  my  lot  to  take  many  towns 
by  storm,  and  I  am  concerned  to  add  that  I  never  saw  nor  heard 
of  one  so  taken  by  any  troops  that  it  was  not  plundered." 

Shakespeare's  description  of  the  stormed  city  can  never 
be  forgotten: 

"  The  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up, 
And  the  flushed  soldier  rough  and  hard 
In  liberty  of  bloody  hand  shall  range 
With  conscience  wide  as  hell." 

This  inhuman  practice  was  formally  abolished  by  the 
Brussels  Declaration — that ''a  town  taken  by  storm  shall  not 
be  given  up  to  the  victorious  troops  to  plunder."  To-day  to 
put  a  garrison  to  the  sword  would  be  breach  of  the  law  of  quarter, 
as  well  as  a  violation  of  the  Brussels  Declaration.  We  may  rest 
assured  the  civilized  world  has  seen  the  last  of  that  atrocity. 

We  look  back  from  the  pinnacle  of  our  high  civilization  with 
surprise  and  horror  to  find  that  even  in  Wellington's  time, 
scarcely  one  hundred  years  ago,  such  savagery  was  the  rule; 
but  so  shall  our  descendants  after  a  like  interval  look  back 
from  a  still  higher  pinnacle  upon  our  slaying  of  man  in  war 
as  equally  atrocious,  equally  unnecessary,  and  equally  inde- 
fensible. 

Let  me  summarize  what  has  been  gained  so  far  in  mitigating 
the  atrocities  of  war  in  our  march  onward  to  the  reign  of  peace. 
Non-combatants  are  now  spared,  women  and  children  are  no 
longer  massacred,  quarter  is  given,  and  prisoners  are  well 
cared  for.  Towns  are  not  given  over  to  pillage,  private  property 
on  land  is  exempt,  or  if  taken  is  paid  or  receipted  for.  Poisoned 
wells,  assassination  of  rulers  and  commanders  by  private  bar- 
gain, and  deceptive  agreements,  are  infamies  of  the  past.  On 
the  sea,  privateering  has  been  aboHshed,  neutral  rights  greatly 
extended  and  property  protected,  and  the  right  of  search 
XXXII  [  14  ] 


ARBITRATION 

narrowly  restricted.  So  much  is  to  be  credited  to  the  pacific 
power  of  international  law.  There  is  great  cause  for  con- 
gratulation. If  man  has  not  been  striking  at  the  heart  of  the 
monster  war,  he  has  at  least  been  busily  engaged  drawing 
some  of  its  poisonous  fangs. 

Thus  even  throughout  the  savage  reign  of  man-slaying  we 
see  the  blessed  law  of  evolution  unceasingly  at  work  performing 
its  divine  mission,  making  that  which  is  better  than  what  has 
been  and  ever  leading  us  on  toward  perfection. 

We  have  only  touched  the  fringe  of  the  crime  so  far,  however, 
the  essence  of  which  is  the  slaughter  of  human  beings,  the 
failure  to  hold  human  life  sacred,  as  the  early  Christians  did. 

One  deplorable  exception  exists  to  the  march  of  improve- 
ment. A  new  stain  has  recently  crept  into  the  rules  of  war 
as  foul  as  any  that  war  has  been  forced  by  pubUc  sentiment 
to  discard.  It  is  the  growth  of  recent  years.  Gentihs,[Grotius, 
and  all  the  great  pubUcists  before  Bynkershoek,  dominated 
by  the  spirit  of  Roman  law,  by  chivalry  and  long  established 
practice,  insist  upon  the  necessity  of  a  formal  declaration  of 
war,  *'that  he  be  not  taken  unawares  under  friendly  guise." 
Not  until  the  beginning  of  the  last  century  did  the  opposite 
view  begin  to  find  favor.  To-day  it  is  held  that  a  formal  declar- 
ation is  not  indispensable  and  that  war  may  begin  without  it. 
Here  is  the  only  step  backward  to  be  met  with  in  the  steady 
progress  of  reforming  the  rules  of  war.  It  is  no  longer  held 
to  be  contrary  to  these  for  a  power  to  surprise  and  destroy 
while  yet  in  friendly  conference  with  its  adversary,  endeavoring 
to  effect  a  peaceful  settlement.  It  belongs  to  the  infernal  armory 
of  assassins  hired  to  kill  or  poison  opposing  generals,  of  forged 
despatches,  poisoned  wells,  agreements  made  to  be  broken, 
and  all  the  diabolic  weapons  which,  for  very  shame,  men  have 
been  forced  to  abandon  as  too  infamous  even  for  the  trade  of 
man-slaying.  It  proclaims  that  any  party  to  a  dispute  can 
first  in  his  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace,  sitting  in  friendly 
conference,  ostensibly  engaged  in  finding  a  peaceful  solution 
of  differences,  while  with  the  left  he  grasps,  concealed,  the 
assassin's  dagger.  The  parallel  between  duel  and  war  runs 
very  close  through  history.  The  challenger  to  a  duel  gave 
XXXII  [  15  ] 


ARBITRATION 

the  other  party  notice.  In  1187,  the  German  Diet  at  Nurem- 
berg enacted:  ''We  decree  and  enact  by  this  edict  that  he  who 
intends  to  damage  another  or  to  injure  him  shall  give  him  notice 
three  days  before."  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  coming  conference 
will  stamp  this  treachery  as  contrary  to  the  rules  of  war,  and 
thus  return  to  the  ancient  and  more  chivalrous  idea  of  attack 
only  after  notice. 

We  come  now  to  the  consideration  of  the  other  command- 
ing force  in  the  campaign  against  war — peaceful  arbitration. 

The  originator  of  the  world-wide  arbitration  idea  was 
Emeric  Cruce,  born  at  Paris  about  1590.  Of  his  small  book  of 
two  hundred  and  twenty-six  pages  upon  the  subject  only  one  copy 
exists.  Gerloius  had  propounded  the  idea  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, but  it  failed  to  attract  attention.  Balch  says:  ''Cruce  pre- 
sented what  was  probably  the  first  real  proposal  of  substituting 
international  arbitration  for  war  as  the  court  of  last  resort  of 
nations."  It  has  a  quaint  preface:  "This  book  would  gladly 
make  the  tour  of  the  inhabited  world  so  as  to  be  seen  by  all 
the  kings,  and  it  would  not  fear  any  disgrace,  having  truth  for 
its  escort  and  the  merit  of  its  subject,  which  must  serve  as  let- 
ters of  recommendation  and  credit." 

Henry  IV.,  in  1603,  produced  his  scheme  for  consolidating 
Europe  in  order  to  abolish  war;  but  as  its  fundamental  idea 
was  armed  force  and  involved  the  overthrow  of  the  Hapsburgs, 
it  can  not  be  considered  as  in  the  line  with  the  system  of  peace- 
ful arbitration. 

St.  Pierre,  the  Due  de  Lorraine,  William  Penn,  the  Quaker 
founder  of  Pennsylvania,  Bentham,  Kant,  Mill,  and  others 
have  labored  to  substitute  the  reign  of  law  for  war  by  produc- 
ing schemes  much  alike  in  character,  so  that  we  have  many 
proofs  of  the  irrepressible  longing  of  man  for  release  from  the 
scourge. 

I  beg  now  to  direct  your  attention  to  the  most  fruitful  of  all 
conferences  that  have  ever  taken  place.  Other  conferences 
have  been  held,  but  always  at  the  end  of  war,  and  their  first 
duty  was  to  restore  peace  between  the  belligerents.  The 
Hague  Conference  was  the  first  ever  called  to  discuss  the  means 
of  establishing  peace  without  reference  to  any  particular  war. 
xxxn  [ 16 ] 


ARBITRATION 

Twenty-six  nations  were  represented,  including  all  the  leading 
powers. 

The  Conference  was  called  by  the  present  Emperor  of  Russia, 
August  24,  1898,  and  is  destined  to  be  forever  memorable  from 
having  realized  Cruce's  ideal,  and  given  to  the  world  its  first 
permanent  court  for  the  settlement  of  international  disputes. 
The  last  century  is  in  future  ages  to  remain  famous  as  having 
given  birth  to  this  high  court  of  humanity.  The  conference 
opened  upon  the  birthday  of  the  Emperor,  May  18,  1899. 
The  day  may  yet  become  one  of  the  world's  holidays  in  the  com- 
ing day  of  peace,  as  that  upon  which  humanity  took  one  of  its 
longest  and  highest  steps  in  its  history,  onward  and  upward. 
As  Ambassador  White  says, ''The  Conference  marks  the  first 
stage  in  the  abolition  of  the  scourge  of  war."  Such  an  achieve- 
ment was  scarcely  expected,  even  by  the  most  sanguine.  Its 
accomphshment  surprised  most  of  the  members  of  the  Conference 
themselves;  but  so  deeply  and  generally  had  they  been  appalled 
by  the  ravages  of  war,  and  its  enormous  cost,  by  its  inevitable 
progeny  of  future  wars,  and  above  all  by  its  failure  to  ensure 
lasting  peace,  that  the  idea  of  a  world-court  captivated  the 
assembly,  which  has  been  pronounced  the  most  distinguished 
that  ever  met.  A  less  sweeping  proposal  would  probably  not 
have  touched  their  imagination  and  aroused  their  enthusiasm. 
The  prompt  acceptance  of  the  international  court  by  pubHc 
sentiment  in  all  countries  was  no  less  surprising.  Every  one  of 
the  powers  represented  promptly  ratified  the  treaty,  the  United 
States  Senate  voting  unanimously — a  rare  event.  We  may  justly 
accept  this  far-reaching  and  rapid  success  as  evidence  of  a  deep, 
general,  and  earnest  desire  in  all  lands  to  depose  war  and  enthrone 
peace  through  the  judicial  settlement  of  disputes  by  courts. 

At  last  there  is  no  excuse  for  war.  A  tribunal  is  now  at 
hand  to  judge  wisely  and  deliver  righteous  judgment  between 
nations.  It  has  made  an  auspicious  start.  A  number  of 
disputes  have  already  been  settled  by  it.  First,  it  settled  a 
difference  between  the  United  States  and  Mexico.  Then 
President  Rv^osevelt,  when  asked  to  act  as  arbiter,  nobly  led 
Britain,  Germany,  France,  Italy,  America,  and  Venezuela  to 
it  for  settlement  of  their  differences. 
XXXII  [17] 


ARBITRATION 

Britain  had  recently  a  narrow  escape  from  war  with  Russia, 
arising  from  the  unfortunate  incident  upon  the  Dogger  Bank, 
when  fishing  boats  were  struck  by  shots  from  Russian  war- 
ships. There  was  intense  excitement.  The  Hague  Treaty 
provides  that  when  such  difficulties  arise  international  commis- 
sions of  inquiry  be  formed.  This  was  the  course  pursued  by 
two  governments,  parties  to  the  treaty,  which  happily  preserved 
the  peace. 

It  was  under  another  provision  of  the  Hague  Conference  that 
the  President  of  the  United  States  addressed  his  recent  note  to 
Japan  and  Russia  suggesting  a  conference  looking  to  peace,  and 
offering  his  services  to  bring  it  about.  His  success  was  thus 
made  possible  by  the  Hague  Treaty.  The  world  is  fast  awaken- 
ing to  its  far-reaching  consequences  and  to  the  fact  that  the 
greatest  advance  man  has  ever  made  by  one  act  is  the  creation 
of  a  world-court  to  settle  international  disputes. 

As  I  write,  report  comes  that  to-morrow  the  august  tribunal 
is  to  begin  hearing  France  and  Britain  upon  their  differences 
regarding  Muscat.  There  sits  the  divinest  conclave  that  ever 
graced  the  earth,  judged  by  its  mission,  which  is  the  fulfilment 
of  the  prophecy,  "Men  shall  beat  their  swords  into  ploughshares, 
and  their  spears  into  pruning  hooks;  nation  shall  not  hft  up 
sword  against  nation,  neither  shall  they  learn  war  any  more." 

Thus  the  world-court  goes  marching  on,  to  the  dethrone- 
ment of  savage  war  and  the  enthronement  of  peaceful  arbitra- 
tion. 

The  Hague  tribunal  has  nothing  compulsory  about  it;  all 
members  are  left  in  perfect  freedom  as  to  whether  they  submit 
questions  to  it  or  not.  This  has  sometimes  been  regarded 
as  its  weakness,  but  it  is,  from  another  point  of  view,  its  strong- 
est feature.  Like  international  law,  it  depends  upon  its  merits 
to  win  its  way,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  succeeding;  but  so 
anxious  are  many  to  hasten  the  aboHtion  of  war  that  suggestions 
are  made  toward  obtaining  the  consent  of  the  powers  to  agree 
to  submit  to  it  certain  classes  of  questions.  In  this  it  may  be 
well  to  make  haste  slowly  and  refrain  from  exerting  pressure. 
This  will  all  come  in  good  time.  Peace  wins  her  way  not  by 
force;  her  appeal  is  to  the  reason  and  the  conscience  of  man. 
XXXII  [  i8  ] 


ARBITRATION 

In  all  treaties  hitherto  the  great  powers  have  retained  power 
to  withhold  submission  of  questions  affecting  "their  honor 
or  vital  interests."  This  was  only  natural  at  first,  and  time 
is  required  gradually  to  widen  the  range  of  subjects  to  be 
submitted.  The  tendency  to  do  this  is  evident,  and  it  only  needs 
patience  to  reach  the  desired  end.  The  greatest  step  for- 
ward in  this  direction  is  that  Denmark  and  the  Netherlands 
and  Chili  and  Argentina  have  just  concluded  treaties  agreeing 
to  submit  to  arbitration  all  disputes,  making  no  exception 
whatever.  To  crown  this  noble  work,  the  latter  two  have 
erected  a  statue  to  the  Prince  of  Peace  on  the  highest  peak  of 
the  Andes,  which  marks  the  long-disputed  boundary  between 
them. 

Another  splendid  advance  in  this  direction  has  been  made  in 
the  agreement  to  arbitrate  all  questions  between  Sweden  and 
Norway.  Questions  affecting  "independence,  integrity,  or  vital 
interests"  are  excepted;  but  should  any  difference  arise  as  to 
what  to  do,  that  question  is  to  be  submitted.  In  other  words, 
either  nation  can  claim  that  a  question  does  so,  and,  if  the 
Hague  tribunal  agrees,  it  is  not  arbitrated.  But  if  the  tribunal 
decides  the  difference  does  not  concern  the  "  independence,  in- 
tegrity, or  vital  interests  of  either  country,"  then  it  is  submitted 
to  arbitration.  This  is  certainly  a  step  forward;  and  you 
will  please  note  that  intangible  thing — "honor" — is  omitted. 

These  nations  are  to  be  cordially  congratulated  on  taking 
the  initial  step  in  this  splendid  advance.  We  grudge  not  the 
honor  and  glory  that  have  fallen  to  them  therefrom,  though 
in  our  hearts  we  may  feel  that  this  might  more  appropriately 
have  been  the  work  of  the  race  that  abolished  slavery,  both 
branches  participating,  and  also  abolished  the  duel.  What  our 
race  should  now  do  is  to  follow  the  example  set  and  conclude 
such  a  treaty,  operative  within  the  wide  boundaries  of  English- 
speakers,  empire  and  republic.  Less  than  this  were  derogatory 
to  our  past  as  pioneers  of  progress.  We  cannot  long  permit 
these  small  nations  to  march  in  advance.  We  should  at  least 
get  abreast  of  them. 

We  have  noted  that  honor  or  vital  interests  have  hitherto 
been  excepted  from  submission  by  arbitration  treaties.  We 
xxxn  [ 19 ] 


ARBITRATION 

exclaim,  *'0h,  Liberty,  what  crimes  are  committed  in  thy 
name ! " — but  these  are  trifling  compared  with  those  committed 
in  the  name  of  '■'honor,"  the  most  dishonored  word  in  our  lan- 
guage. Never  did  man  or  nation  dishonor  another  man  or 
nation.  This  is  impossible.  All  honor's  wounds  are  self-in- 
flicted. All  stains  upon  honor  come  from  within,  never  from 
without.  Innocence  seeks  no  revenge;  there  is  nothing  to 
be  revenged — guilt  can  never  be.  Man  or  nation  whose  honor 
needs  vindication  beyond  a  statement  of  the  truth,  which  puts 
calumny  to  shame,  is  to  be  pitied.  Innocence  rests  with  that, 
truth  has  a  quiet  breast,  for  the  guiltless  find  that 

"  So  dear  to  Heaven  is  saintly  Innocence, 
A  thousand  liveried  angels  lackey  her 
To  keep  her  from  all  sense  of  sin  and  shame." 

Innocent  honor,  assailed,  discards  bloody  revenge  and  seeks 
the  halls  of  justice  and  of  arbitration.  It  has  been  held  in  the 
past  that,  a  man's  honor  assailed,  vindication  lay  only  through 
the  sword.  To-day  it  is  sometimes  still  held  that  a  nation's 
honor,  assailed,  can  in  like  manner  be  vindicated  only  through 
war;  but  it  is  not  open  to  a  member  of  our  race  to  hold  this 
doctrine,  for  within  its  wide  boundaries  no  dispute  between 
men  can  be  lawfully  adjusted  outside  the  courts  of  law.  In- 
stead of  vindicating  his  honor,  the  English-speaking  man  who 
violated  the  law  by  seeking  redress  by  personal  violence  would 
dishonor  himself.  Under  our  law,  no  wrong  against  man  can 
be  committed  that  justifies  the  crime  of  private  vengeance 
after  its  commission. 

The  man  of  our  race  who  holds  that  his  country  would  be 
dishonored  by  agreeing  to  unrestricted  arbitration  forgets  that 
according  to  this  standard  he  is  personally  dishonored  by  doing 
that  very  thing.  Individually  he  has  become  civilized,  nation- 
ally he  remains  barbaric,  refusing  peaceful  settlement  and 
insisting  upon  national  revenge — all  for  injured  honor. 

Which  of  us  would  not  rejoice  to  have  Britain  and  America 
share  with  Denmark  and  Hofland,  Chili  and  Argentina,  the 
*' dishonor"  they  have  recently  incurred,  and  esteem  it  a  proud 
possession  ? 

XXXII  [  20  ] 


ARBITRATION 

Nations  are  only  aggregates  of  the  individual.  The  parallel 
between  war  and  the  duel  is  complete;  and  as  society  within 
our  race  already  relies  upon  courts  of  justice  to  protect  its  mem- 
bers from  all  wrongs,  so  shall  the  nations  finally  rely  upon 
international  courts. 

Objection  has  been  made  that  unreasonable,  dishonoring, 
or  baseless  claims  might  be  made  under  arbitration.  That  any 
member  of  the  family  of  nations  would  present  a  claim  wholly 
without  basis,  or  that  the  court  would  not  decide  against  it 
if  made,  is  a  danger  purely  hypothetical.  The  agreement 
between  nations  when  made  will  undoubtedly  be  framed  in 
accordance  with  the  ideas  of  Grotius,  and  the  independence 
and  equality  of  all  members  and  their  existing  territories  recog- 
nized.    These  could  not  be  assailed. 

Three  incidents  have  occurred  since  the  court  was  organized 
which  have  caused  much  pain  to  the  friends  of  peace  through- 
out the  world. 

America  refused  the  offer  of  the  Filipinos  to  adjust  their 
quarrel  by  arbitration.  Britain  refused  the  offer  of  the  Trans- 
vaal Republic  to  arbitrate,  although  three  of  the  court  proposed 
by  the  repubhc  were  to  be  British  judges,  and  the  other  two 
judges  of  Holland — the  most  remarkable  offer  ever  made, 
highly  creditable  to  the  maker  and  a  great  tribute  to  British 
judges.  Neither  Russia  nor  Japan  suggested  submission  to 
The  Hague.  Since  the  Hague  court  is  the  result  of  the  Russian 
Emperor's  initiative,  this  caused  equal  surprise  and  pain.  The 
explanation  has  been  suggested  that  peaceful  conferences  were 
being  held  when  Japan  attacked  at  Port  Arthur  without  notice, 
rendering  arbitration  impossible. 

We  must  recognize  these  discouraging  incidents,  but  we  have 
the  consolation  left  us  of  believing  that,  had  either  of  the  three 
nations  seen,  at  the  beginning,  the  consequences  of  ignoring 
arbitration,  as  clearly  as  they  did  later,  they  would  have  ac- 
cepted arbitration  and  had  reason  to  congratulate  themselves 
upon  the  award  of  the  court,  whatever  it  was.  They  will 
learn  by  experience.  Notwithstanding  these  regrettable  failures 
to  refer  disputes  to  the  Hague  court  as  peaceful  umpire,  we 
have  abundant  reason  for  satisfaction  in  the  number  of  instances 
xxxn  [21] 


ARBITRATION 

in  which  the  court's  award  has  already  brought  peace  without 
the  sacrifice  of  one  human  hfe — the  victories  which  bring 
no  tears. 

Signs  of  action  in  favor  of  universal  peace  abound.  Among 
these  may  be  mentioned  that  the  Inter-Parliamentary  Union 
assembled  at  St.  Louis  in  1904  requested  the  governments 
of  the  w^orld  to  send  representatives  to  an  international  con- 
ference to  consider:  First,  the  questions  for  the  consideration 
of  which  the  Conference  at  the  Hague  exi)rcssed  a  wish  that  a 
future  Conference  be  called.  Second,  the  negotiation  of  arbi- 
tration treaties  between  the  nations  represented.  Third,  the 
advisability  of  establishing  an  international  congress  to  be 
convened  periodically  for  the  discussion  of  international  ques- 
tions. 

President  Roosevelt  invited  the  nations  to  call  the  Conference, 
but  has  recently  deferred  to  the  Emperor  of  Russia  as  the  proper 
party  to  call  the  nations  together  again. 

Should  the  proposed  periodic  congress  be  established,  we 
shall  have  the  germ  of  the  council  of  nations,  w^hich  is  coming 
to  keep  the  peace  of  the  w^orld,  judging  between  nations,  as 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  judges  to-day  between 
states  embracing  an  area  larger  than  Europe.  It  will  be  no 
novelty,  but  merely  an  extension  of  an  agency  already  proved 
upon  a  smaller  scale.  As  we  dwell  upon  the  rapid  strides 
tow^ard  peace  w^hich  man  is  making,  the  thought  arises  that 
there  may  be  those  now  present  who  will  live  to  see  this 
world- council  estabhshcd,  through  which  is  sure  to  come  in  the 
course  of  time  the  banishment  of  man-slaying  among  civilized 
nations. 

I  hope  my  hearers  will  follow  closely  the  proceedings  of 
the  Hague  Conference,  for  upon  its  ever-extending  sway  largely 
depends  the  coming  of  the  reign  of  peace.  Its  next  meeting 
will  be  important,  perhaps  epoch-making.  Its  creation  and 
speedy  success  prepare  us  for  surprisingly  rapid  progress. 
Even  the  smallest  further  step  taken  in  any  peaceful  direction 
would  soon  lead  to  succcessive  steps  thereafter.  The  tide  has 
set  in  at  last,  and  is  flowing  as  never  before  for  the  principle 
of  arbitration  as  against  war. 

xxxn  [ 22 ] 


ARBITRATION 

So  much  for  the  temple  of  peace  at  The  Hague.  Permit 
me  a  few  words  upon  arbitration  in  general. 

The  statesmen  who  first  foresaw  and  proved  the  benefits 
of  modern  arbitration  were  Washington,  Franklin,  Hamilton, 
Jay,  and  Grenville. 

As  early  as  1780  FrankHn  writes:  "We  make  daily  great 
improvements  in  Natural,  there  is  one  I  wish  to  see  in  Moral, 
Philosophy — the  discovery  of  a  plan  that  would  induce  and 
oblige  nations  to  settle  their  disputes  without  first  cutting 
each  other's  throats."  His  wish  was  realized  in  the  Jay 
Treaty  of  1794,  from  which  modern  arbitration  dates.  It  is 
noteworthy  that  this  treaty  was  the  child  of  our  race,  and  that 
the  most  important  questions  which  arbitration  has  settled 
so  far  have  been  those  between  its  two  branches. 

It  may  surprise  you  to  learn  that  from  the  date  of  the  Jay 
Treaty,  one  hundred  and  eleven  years  ago,  no  less  than  five 
hundred  and  seventy-one  international  disputes  have  been 
settled  by  arbitration.  Not  in  any  case  has  an  award  been 
questioned  or  disregarded,  except,  I  believe,  in  one  case, 
where  the  arbiters  misunderstood  their  powers.  If  in  every 
ten  of  these  differences  so  quietly  adjusted  without  a  wound 
there  lurked  one  war,  it  follows  that  peaceful  settlement  has 
prevented  fifty-seven  wars — one  every  two  years.  More  than 
this,  had  the  fifty-seven  wars,  assumed  as  prevented  by  arbi- 
tration, developed,  they  would  have  sown  the  seeds  of  many 
future  wars,  for  there  is  no  such  prolific  mother  of  wars  as 
war  itself.  Hate  breeds  hate,  quarrel  breeds  quarrels,  war 
breeds  war — a  hateful  progeny.  It  is  the  poorest  of  all  reme- 
dies. It  poisons  as  it  cures.  No  truer  line  was  ever  penned 
than  this  of  Milton's,  "For  what  can  war  but  endless  war 
still  breed?" 

No  less  than  twenty-three  international  treaties  of  arbitra- 
tion have  been  made  within  the  past  two  years.  The  United 
States  made  ten  with  the  principal  powers,  which  only  failed 
to  be  formally  executed  because  the  Senate,  which  shares 
with  our  Executive  the  treaty-making  power  to  the  extent 
that  its  approval  is  necessary,  thought  it  advisable  to  change 
one  word  only — "treaty"  for  "agreement" — which  proved 
XXXII  [  23  ] 


ARBITRATION 

unsatisfactory  to  the  Executive.  The  vote  of  the  Senate  was 
almost  unanimous,  showing  an  overwhelming  sentiment  for 
arbitration.     The  internal  difference  will  no  doubt  be  adjusted. 

You  will  judge  from  these  facts  how  rapidly  arbitration 
is  spreading.  Once  tried,  there  is  no  backward  step.  It  pro- 
duces peace  and  leaves  no  bitterness.  The  parties  to  it  become 
better  friends  than  before ;  war  makes  them  enemies. 

Much  has  been  written  upon  the  fearful  cost  of  war  in  our 
day,  the  ever-increasing  blood  tax  of  nations,  which  threatens 
soon  to  approach  the  point  of  exhaustion  in  several  European 
lands.  To-day  France  leads  with  an  expenditure  of  £^  14s. 
and  a  debt  of  £7,1  3s.  8d.  per  head.  Britain  follows  with  an 
annual  expenditure  of  £^  8s.  8d.  and  a  debt  of  £18  los.  5d. 
per  head.  Germany's  expenditure  is  in  great  contrast — only 
£1  15s.  4d.,  not  much  more  than  one-third;  her  debt,  £2  12s. 
2d.  not  one-sixth  that  of  Britain.  Russia's  expenditure  is  £1 
14s.  6d.,  about  the  same  as  the  German;  her  debt  £<,  9s.  gd. 
per  head. 

The  mihtary  and  naval  expenditure  of  Britain  is  fully  half 
of  her  total  expenditure ;  that  of  the  other  great  powers,  though 
less,  is  rapidly  increasing. 

All  the  great  national  debts,  with  trifling  exceptions- 
Britain's  eight  hundred  millions,  France's  twelve  hundred 
millions  sterling — are  the  legacies  of  war. 

This  drain,  with  the  economic  loss  of  life  added,  is  forcing 
itself  upon  the  nations  concerned  as  never  before.  It  threatens 
soon  to  become  dangerous  unless  the  rapid  increase  of  recent 
years  be  stopped;  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  not  till  after  the 
financial  catastrophe  occurs  will  nations  devote  themselves 
seriously  to  apply  the  cure. 

The  futility  of  war  as  a  means  of  producing  peace  between 
nations  has  often  been  dwelt  upon.  It  is  really  the  most  futile 
of  all  remedies,  because  it  embitters  contestants  and  sows 
the  seeds  of  future  struggles.  Generations  are  sometimes 
required  to  eradicate  the  hostility  engendered  by  one  conflict. 
War  sows  dragons'  teeth,  and  seldom  gives  to  either  party 
what  it  fought  for.  When  it  does,  the  spoil  generally  proves 
Dead  Sea  fruit.  The  terrible  war  just  concluded  is  another 
xxxn  [ 24 ] 


ARBITRATION 

case  in  point.  Neither  contestant  obtained  what  he  fought 
for,  the  reputed  victor  being  most  of  all  disappointed  at  last 
with  the  terms  of  peace.  Had  Japan,  a  very  poor  country, 
known  that  the  result  would  be  a  debt  of  two  hundred  millions 
sterling  loading  her  down,  or  had  Russia  known  the  resuh, 
differences  would  have  been  peacefully  arbitrated.  Such 
considerations  fmd  no  place,  however,  in  the  fiery  furnace  of 
popular  clamor;  as  little  do  those  of  cost  or  loss  of  hfe.  Only 
if  the  moral  wrong,  the  sin  in  itself,  of  man-slaying  is  brought 
home  to  the  conscience  of  the  masses  may  we  hope  speedily 
to  banish  war.  There  will,  we  fear,  always  be  demagogues 
in  our  day  to  inflame  their  brutal  passions  and  urge  men  to 
fight,  as  a  point  of  honor  and  patriotism,  scouting  arbitration 
as  a  cowardly  refuge.  All  thoughts  of  cost  or  loss  of  human 
life  vanish  when  the  brute  in  man,  thus  aroused,  gains  sway. 

It  is  the  crime  of  destroying  human  Hfe  by  war  and  the  duty 
to  offer  or  accept  peaceful  arbitration  as  a  substitute  which 
need  to  be  established,  and  which,  as  we  think,  those  of  the 
church,  the  universities,  and  of  the  professions  are  called  upon 
to  strongly  emphasize. 

If  the  principal  European  nations  were  not  free  through 
conscription  from  the  problem  which  now  disturbs  the  military 
authorities  of  Britain,  the  lack  of  sufficient  numbers  willing 
to  enter  the  man-slaying  profession,  we  should  soon  hear  the 
demand  formulated  for  a  league  of  peace  among  the  nations. 
The  subject  of  war  can  never  be  studied  without  recalling 
this  simplest  of  all  modes  for  its  abolition.  Five  nations  co- 
operated in  quelling  the  recent  Chinese  disorders  and  rescuing 
their  representatives  in  Pekin.  It  is  perfectly  clear  that  these 
five  nations  could  banish  war.  Suppose  even  three  of  them 
formed  a  league  of  peace — inviting  all  other  nations  to  join — 
and  agreed  that  since  war  in  any  part  of  the  civilized  world 
affects  all  nations,  and  often  seriously,  no  nation  shall  go  to 
war,  but  shall  refer  international  disputes  to  the  Hague  Con- 
ference or  other  arbitral  body  for  peaceful  settlement,  the 
league  agreeing  to  declare  non-intercourse  with  any  nation 
refusing  compliance.  Imagine  a  nation  cut  off  to-day  from 
the  world.  The  league  also  might  reserve  to  itself  the  right, 
XXXII  [  25  ] 


ARBITRATION 

where  non-intercourse  is  likely  to  fail  or  has  failed  to  prevent 
war,  to  use  the  necessary  force  to  maintain  peace,  each  member 
of  the  league  agreeing  to  provide  the  needed  forces,  or  money 
in  lieu  thereof,  in  proportion  to  her  population  or  wealth. 
Being  experimental  and  upon  trial,  it  might  be  deemed  ad- 
visable, if  necessary,  at  first  to  agree  that  any  member  could 
withdraw  after  giving  five  years'  notice,  and  that  the  league 
should  dissolve  five  years  after  a  majority  vote  of  all  the  mem- 
bers. Further  provisions,  and  perhaps  some  adaptations, 
would  be  found  requisite,  but  the  main  idea  is  here. 

The  Emperor  of  Russia  called  the  Hague  Conference, 
which  gave  us  an  international  tribunal.  Were  King  Edward 
or  the  Emperor  of  Germany  or  the  President  of  France,  acting 
for  their  governments,  to  invite  the  nations  to  send  repre- 
sentatives to  consider  the  wisdom  of  forming  such  a  league, 
the  invitation  would  no  doubt  be  responded  to  and  probably 
prove  successful. 

The  number  that  would  gladly  join  such  a  league  would 
be  great,  for  the  smaller  nations  would  welcome  the  opportu- 
nity. 

The  relations  between  Britain,  France,  and  the  United 
States  to-day  are  so  close,  their  aims  so  similar,  their  terri- 
tories and  fields  of  operation  so  clearly  defined  and  so  different, 
that  these  powers  might  properly  unite  in  inviting  other  nations 
to  consider  the  question  of  such  a  league  as  has  been  sketched. 
It  is  a  subject  well  worthy  the  attention  of  their  rulers,  for  of 
all  the  modes  of  hastening  the  end  of  war  this  appears  the 
easiest  and  the  best.  We  have  no  reason  to  doubt  that  arbitra- 
tion in  its  present  optional  form  will  continue  its  rapid  prog- 
ress, and  that  it  in  itself  contains  the  elements  required  finally 
to  lead  us  to  peace,  for  it  conquers  wherever  it  is  tried;  but 
it  is  none  the  less  gratifying  to  know  that  there  is  in  reserve 
a  drastic  mode  of  enforcement,  if  needed,  which  would  promptly 
banish  war. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  cheering  signs  of  the  growth  of 

arbitration,   we  should  delude   ourselves  if  we  assumed  that 

war  is  immediately  to  cease,  for  it  is  scarcely  to  be  hoped  that 

the  future  has  not  to  witness  more  than  one  great  holocaust 

XXXII  [  26  ] 


ARBITRATION 

of  men  to  be  offered  up  before  the  reign  of  peace  blesses  the 
earth.  The  scoria  from  the  smouldering  mass  of  the  fiery 
past,  the  seeds  that  great  wars  have  sown,  may  be  expected 
to  burst  out  at  intervals  more  and  more  remote,  until  the 
poison  of  the  past  is  exhausted.  That  there  is  to  be  perfect 
unbroken  peace  in  our  progress  to  this  end  we  are  not  so  un- 
duly sanguine  as  to  imagine.  We  are  prepared  for  more  than 
one  outbreak  of  madness  and  folly  in  the  future  as  in  the  past ; 
but  that  peace  is  to  come  at  last,  and  that  sooner,  much  sooner, 
tJian  the  majority  of  my  hearers  can  probably  credit,  I  for  one 
entertain  not  one  particle  of  doubt. 

We  sometimes  hear,  in  defence  of  war,  that  it  develops 
the  manly  virtue  of  courage.  This  means  only  physical 
courage,  which  some  animals  and  the  lower  order  of  savage 
men  possess  in  the  highest  degree.  According  to  this  idea,  the 
more  man  resembles  the  bulldog  the  higher  he  is  developed 
as  man.  The  Zulus,  armed  with  spears,  rush  upon  repeating 
rifles,  not  because  unduly  endowed  with  true  courage,  but 
because  they  lack  common  sense.  One  session  or  less  at  St. 
Andrew's  University  would  cure  them  of  their  folly.  In  our 
scientific  day,  beyond  any  that  has  preceded,  discretion  is  by 
far  the  better  part  of  valor.  Officers  and  men,  brave  to  a 
fault,  expose  themselves  needlessly  and  die  for  the  country 
they  would  have  better  served  by  sheltering  themselves  and 
living  for.  Physical  courage  is  far  too  common  to  be  specially 
extolled.  Japanese,  Russian  and  Turk,  Zulu  and  Achenese 
are  all  famous  for  it.  It  is  often  allied  with  moral  cowardice. 
Hotspur  is  an  ideal  physical-courage  hero  when  he  exclaims— 

"By  heaven,  methinks  it  were  an  easy  leap, 
To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep, 
Where  fathom  line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks ; 
So  that  he  that  doth  redeem  her  thence  might  wear 
Without  corrival  all  her  dignities." 

Vain  peacock,  unless  he  could  reap  the  glory  and  strut  be- 
spangled with  glittering  decorations,  he  cared  not  to  achieve. 
All  for  himself,  nothing  for  the  cause,  nothing  for  his  country. 
XXXII  [  27  ] 


ARBITRATION 

Achilles,  sulking  in  his  tent,  incensed  upon  the  question 
of  loot  and  praying  the  gods  to  defeat  his  own  countrymen,  is 
another  example  of  a  physically  courageous  military  hero. 
Fortunately  our  modern  military  men  are  generally  of  a  different 
type.  It  is  not  the  individual  who  conforms  to  the  standard 
of  his  age,  but  the  bad  standard  of  the  age  that  is  to  be  con- 
demned. Men  are  to  be  judged  only  by  the  standard  of  their 
time,  and  though  our  standard  of  to-day  may  be  low  indeed, 
the  men  conforming  to  it  are  not  to  be  decried. 

If  you  would  be  lifted  up  and  inspired  by  worshipping  at 
the  shrine  of  the  much  nobler  and  rarer  virtue,  moral  courage, 
stand  before  the  Martyrs'  Monument  yonder.  The  martyrs 
cared  nothing  for  earthly  glory  and  honor  or  reward;  their 
duty  was  to  stand  for  a  noble  cause,  and  for  that,  not  for  their 
own  selfish  exaltation,  they  marched  through  fire  and  fagot 
to  death  unflinchingly,  chanting  as  they  marched. 

There  is  one  very  encouraging  indication  of  progress  within 
our  race,  as  showing,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the  influence  of  educa- 
tion upon  the  masses  in  evolving  clearer  ideas  of  responsi- 
bihty  for  their  actions.  The  attention  of  Parliament  was 
recently  called  to  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  recruits  for  the 
army.  The  shortage  of  officers  in  the  auxiliary  forces  (volun- 
teers and  militia)  is  no  less  than  twenty-five  per  cent. — one- 
fourth  of  the  whole.  The  militia  has  32,000  men  less  than 
before.  The  regular  army  lacks  242  officers,  and  the  British 
army  for  India  is  short  12,000  British  recruits.  The  Govern- 
ment pronounces  this  "the  most  serious  problem  which  con- 
fronts the  military  authorities."  Some  of  the  highest  miHtary 
authorities  see  the  final  remedy  only  in  conscription.  I  re- 
joice to  inform  you  that  your  kin  beyond  sea  in  America  have 
on  hand  the  very  same  problem  for  their  navy.  Their  army, 
being  so  small,  is  not  yet  affected.  All  their  warships  can- 
not be  manned — 3,500  men  are  lacking.  From  this  shortage 
of  recruits  we  are  justified  in  concluding  that  there  is  no  longer 
a  general  desire  in  our  race  to  enter  the  services.  This  is 
specially  significant,  as  we  are  informed  that  increase  of  pay 
would  not  greatly  increase  recruiting,  as  recruits  are  obtained 
chiefly  from  a  certain  class.  We  hear  of  a  like  trouble  in 
XXXII  [  28  ] 


ARBITRATION 

another  profession,  a  scarcity  of  young,  educated,  conscientious 
men  desirous  of  entering  the  ministry,  thought  to  be  owing  to 
the  theological  tenets  to  which  they  are  required  to  subscribe. 
Both  branches  of  the  church  in  Scotland  have  accordingly 
endeavored  to  meet  this  problem  by  substituting  less  objec- 
tionable terms. 

Perhaps  from  the  pubHc  library  young  men  have  taken 
Carlyle  and  read  how  he  describes  the  artisans  of  Britain  and 
France:  "Thirty  stand  fronting  thirty,  each  with  a  gun  in 
his  hand.  Straightway  the  word  'fire'  is  given,  and  they 
blow  the  souls  out  of  one  another;  and  in  place  of  sixty  brisk, 
useful  craftsmen,  the  world  has  sixty  dead  carcases,  which  it 
must  bury  and  anew  shed  tears  for.  Had  these  men  any 
quarrel?  Busy  as  the  devil  is,  not  the  smallest!  They  lived 
far  enough  apart,  were  the  entirest  strangers;  nay,  in  so  wide 
a  universe  there  was  even,  unconsciously,  by  commerce,  some 
mutual  helpfulness  between  them.  How  then?  Simpleton! 
Their  governors  had  fallen  out,  and,  instead  of  shooting  one 
another,  had  the  cunning  to  make  these  poor  blockheads 
shoot." 

Those  who  decline  the  advances  of  the  decorated  recruit- 
ing officer  may  have  stumbled  upon  Professor  MacMichael's 
address  to  the  Peace  Congress  at  Edinburgh,  1853,  when  he 
said:  "The  military  profession  is  inconsistent  with  Chris- 
tianity. The  higher  the  rank  and  the  greater  the  intellect, 
the  more  desperate  the  criminality.  Here  is  a  person  upon 
whom  God  has  conferred  the  rare  gift  of  mathematical  genius. 
If  properly  directed,  what  an  abundant  sovirce  of  benefit  to 
mankind!  It  might  be  employed  in  the  construction  of  rail- 
ways, by  which  the  most  distant  parts  of  the  world  are  brought 
into  communication  with  each  other.  It  might  be  employed 
in  flashing  the  trembling  Hghtning  across  the  wires,  making 
them  the  medium  of  intercourse  between  loving  hearts  thou- 
sands of  miles  apart;  in  increasing  the  wonderful  powers  of 
the  steam  engine,  relieving  man  from  his  exhausting  toils; 
in  application  to  the  printing  press,  sending  light  and  knowl- 
edge to  the  farthest  extremities  of  the  earth.  It  might  be 
employed  in  draining  marshes,  in  supplying  our  towns  and 
XXXII  [  29  ] 


ARBITRATION 

cities  with  water,  and  in  adding  to  the  heakh  and  happiness 
of  men.  It  might  lay  down  rules  derived  from  the  starry 
heavens,  by  which  the  mariner  is  guided  through  the  wild 
wastes  of  waters  in  the  darkest  night.  How  noble  is  science 
when  thus  directed,  but  in  the  same  proportion  how  debasing 
does  it  become  when  directed  to  human  destruction!  It  is  as 
if  a  chemist  were  to  make  use  of  his  knowledge  not  to  cure  the 
diseases  of  which  humanity  is  suffering,  but  to  poison  the 
springs  of  existence.  The  scientific  soldier  cultivates  his  en- 
dowments for  what  purpose?  That  he  may  determine  the 
precise  direction  at  which  these  batteries  may  vomit  forth  their 
fire  so  as  to  destroy  most  property  and  most  lives;  that  he 
may  calculate  the  precise  angles  and  force  with  which  these 
shells  may  be  sent  up  into  the  air  that  they  may  fall  upon  that 
particular  spot  which  is  thronged  with  men,  and,  exploding 
there,  send  havoc  among  them.  Great  God!  am  I  at  liberty 
to  devote  my  faculties  to  the  infernal  work?" 

That  is  a  voice  from  DunfermHne  of  weighty  import.  I 
found  it  recently  and  rejoiced  that,  when  a  child,  I  had  often 
seen  the  man  who  wrote  these  words. 

Wyclif's  opinion  may  have  arrested  the  young  men's  atten- 
tion: ''What  honor  falls  to  a  knight  that  kills  many  men? 
The  hangman  killeth  many  more  and  with  a  better  title.  Better 
were  it  for  men  to  be  butchers  of  beasts  than  butchers  of  their 
brethren!" 

Or  John  Wesley's  wail  may  have  struck  deep  in  the  hearts 
of  some  fit  for  recruits:  ''You  may  pour  out  your  soul  and 
bemoan  the  loss  of  true,  genuine  love  in  the  earth.  Lost 
indeed!  These  Christian  kingdoms  that  are  tearing  out  each 
other's  bowels,  desolating  one  another  with  fire  and  sword! 
These  Christian  armies  that  are  sending  each  other  by  thou- 
sands, by  tens  of  thousands,  quick  to  hell!" 

It  may  be  from  eminent  soldiers  that  young  men  have 
received  the  most  discouraging  accounts  of  tlie  profession. 
Napoleon  declared  it  "the  trade  of  barbarians."  Wellington 
writes  Lord  Shaftesbury:  "War  is  a  most  detestable  thing. 
If  you  had  seen  but  one  day  of  war,  you  would  pray  God  you 
might  never  see  another."  General  Grant,  offered  a  mihtary 
XXXII  [  30  ] 


ARBITRATION 

review  by  the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  declined,  saying  he  never 
wished  to  look  upon  a  regiment  of  soldiers  again.  General 
Sherman  writes  he  was  "tired  and  sick  of  the  war.  Its  glory 
is  all  moonshine.  It  is  only  those  who  have  neither  fired  a 
shot,  nor  heard  the  shrieks  and  groans  of  the  wounded,  who 
cry  aloud  for  more  blood,  more  vengeance,  more  desolation. 
War  is  hell." 

Perhaps  some  have  pondered  over  Sir  John  Sinclair's 
opinion  that  "the  profession  of  a  soldier  is  a  damnable  pro- 
fession." 

The  professional  soldier  is  primarily  required  for  purposes 
of  aggression,  it  being  clear  that  if  there  were  none  to  attack, 
none  to  defend  would  be  needed.  The  volunteer,  who  arms 
only  to  be  better  able  to  defend  his  home  and  country,  occupies 
a  very  different  position  from  the  recruit  who  enlists  uncon- 
ditionally as  a  profession  and  binds  himself  to  go  forth  and 
slay  his  fellows  as  directed.  The  defence  of  home  and  country 
may  possibly  become  necessary,  although  no  man  living  in 
Britain  or  America  has  ever  seen  invasion  or  is  at  all  likely 
to  see  it.  Still,  the  elements  of  patriotism  and  duty  enter 
here.  That  it  is  every  man's  duty  to  defend  home  and  country 
goes  without  saying.  We  should  never  jorget,  however,  that 
which  makes  it  a  holy  duty  to  dejend  one^s  home  and  country 
also  makes  it  a  holy  duty  not  to  invade  the  country  and  home  oj 
others,  a  truth  which  has  not  hitherto  been  kept  in  mind.  The 
more's  the  pity,  for  in  our  time  it  is  one  incumbent  upon  the 
thoughtful,  peace-loving  man  to  remember.  The  professional 
career  is  an  affair  of  hire  and  salary.  No  duty  calls  any  man 
to  adopt  the  naval  or  military  profession  and  engage  to  go 
forth  and  kill  other  men  when  and  where  ordered,  without 
reference  to  the  right  or  wrong  of  the  quarrel.  It  is  a  serious 
engagement  involving,  as  we  lookers-on  see  it,  a  complete  sur- 
render of  the  power  most  precious  to  man — the  right  of  private 
judgment  and  appeal  to  conscience.  Jay,  the  father  of  the 
first  treaty  between  Britain  and  America,  has  not  failed  to  point 
out  that  "our  country,  right  or  wrong,  is  rebclhon  against 
God  and  treason  to  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  Uberty,  of 
justice  and  humanity." 

XXXII  [  31  ] 


ARBITRATION 

Just  in  proportion  as  man  becomes  truly  intelligent,  we 
must  expect  him  to  realize  more  and  more  that  he  himself 
alone  is  responsible  for  his  selection  of  an  occupation,  and 
that  neither  pope,  priest,  nor  king  can  reheve  him  from  this 
responsibility. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  the  untaught,  illiterate  hind,  pressed 
into  King  Henry's  service,  to  argue:  ''Now,  if  these  men  do  not 
die  well,  it  will  be  a  black  matter  for  the  King  that  led  them 
to  it,  whom  to  disobey  were  against  all  proportion  of  sub- 
jection." The  schoolmaster  has  been  abroad  since  then. 
The  divine  right  of  kings  has  gone.  The  mass  of  English- 
speaking  men  now  make  and  unmake  their  kings,  scout  infal- 
libility of  power  of  pope  or  priest,  and  in  extreme  cases  some- 
times venture  to  argue  a  point  even  with  their  own  minister. 
The  ''Judge  within"  begins  to  rule.  Whether  a  young  man 
decides  to  devote  his  powers  to  making  of  himself  an  efficient 
instrument  for  injuring  or  destroying,  or  for  saving  and  serving 
his  fellows,  rests  with  himself  to  decide  after  serious  considera- 
tion. 

To  meet  the  scarcity  of  officers,  the  Government  stated  that 
it  was  considering  the  policy  of  looking  to  the  universities  for 
the  needed  supply,  and  that  steps  might  be  taken  to  encourage 
the  study  of  war  with  a  view  to  enlistment;  but  if  university 
students  are  so  far  advanced  ethically  as  to  decline  pledging 
themselves  to  preach  "creeds  outworn" — rightfully  most  care- 
ful to  heed  the  "Judge  within,"  their  own  conscience — uni- 
versities will  probably  be  found  poor  recruiting  ground  for 
men  required  to  pledge  themselves  to  go  forth  and  slay  their 
fellow-men  at  another's  bidding.  The  day  of  humiliation  will 
have  come  upon  universities  when  their  graduates,  upon 
whom  have  been  spent  years  of  careful  education  in  all  that 
is  highest  and  best,  find  themselves  at  the  end  good  for  nothing 
better  than  "food  for  powder."  I  think  I  hear  the  response 
of  the  son  of  St.  Andrew's  to  the  recruiting  officer,  "Is  thy  ser- 
vant a  dog  that  he  should  do  this  thing?" 

From  one  point  of  view,  the  scarcity  of  officers  and  recruits 
in  Britain  and  America,  where  men  are  free  to  choose,  and  the 
refusal  of  university  students  to  compromise  themselves  by 
xxxn  [ 32 ] 


ARBITRATION 

pledges  upon  entering  the  ministry,  are  most  cheering,  evincing 
as  they  do  a  keener  sense  of  personal  responsibility,  a  stronger 
appeal  to  conscience— the  "Judge  within"— more  tender  and 
sympathetic  natures,  a  higher  standard  of  human  action,  and 
altogether  a  higher  type  of  man. 

If  war  requires  a  surrender  of  all  these  by  its  recruits, 
much  better  we  should  face  the  alternative  and  let  Britain  and 
America  depend  upon  the  patriotism  of  citizens  to  defend 
their  countries  if  attacked,  in  which  duty  I  for  one  strongly 
believe  they  will  never  be  found  inefficient.  Colonel  Hender- 
son, in  his  "Science  of  War,"  states  "that  the  American  Volun- 
teers were  superior  to  the  conscript  levies  of  Europe — that 
the  morale  of  conscript  armies  has  always  been  their  weakest 
point.  The  morale  of  the  volunteer  is  of  a  higher  type." 
This  stands  to  reason. 

Should  Britain  ever  be  invaded,  the  whole  male  population 
able  to  march  would  volunteer,  and  from  many  parts  of  the 
world  thousands  would  rush  to  the  defence  of  the  old  home. 
Those,  who  invade  the  land  of  Shakespeare  and  Burns  will 
find  they  have  to  face  forces  they  never  reckoned  upon.  The 
hearts  and  consciences  of  all  would  be  in  the  work;  and 
"Thrice  is  he  armed  who  hath  his  quarrel  just." 

Students  of  St.  Andrew's,  my  effort  has  been  to  give  you  a 
correct  idea  of  the  movement  now  stirring  the  world  for  the 
abolition  of  war,  and  what  it  has  already  accompHshed.  It 
never  was  so  widespread  or  so  vigorous,  nor  at  any  stage  of 
the  campaign  have  its  triumphs  been  so  numerous  and  im- 
portant as  those  of  the  last  few  years,  beginning  with  the 
Hague  Conference,  which  in  itself  marks  an  epoch.  The 
foundation  stone  of  the  structure  to  come  was  then  laid.  The 
absolute  surrender  by  four  nations  of  all  future  differences 
to  arbitration,  and  Norway  and  Sweden's  agreement,  mark 
another  stage.  Thus  the  civilized  world  at  last  moves  steadily 
to  the  reign  of  peace  through  arbitration. 

The  question  has  no  doubt  arisen  in  your  minds,  what  is 
your  duty  and  how  can  you  best  cooperate  in  this  holy  work 
and  hasten  the  end  of  war?  I  advise  you  to  adopt  Washing- 
ton's words  as  your  own:  "My  first  wish  is  to  see  this  plague 
xxxn  [ 33 ] 


ARBITRATION 

of  mankind,  war,  banished  from  the  earth."  Leagues  of 
peace  might  be  form.ed  over  the  world  with  these  words  as 
their  motto  and  basis  of  action.  How  are  we  to  reahze  this 
pious  wish  of  Washington's?  may  be  asked.  Here  is  the 
answer.  Whenever  an  international  dispute  arises,  no  matter 
what  party  is  in  power,  demand  at  once  that  your  Government 
offer  to  refer  it  to  arbitration,  and  if  necessary  break  with  your 
party.  Peace  is  above  party.  Should  the  adversary  have 
forestalled  your  Government  in  offering  arbitration,  which  for 
the  sake  of  our  race  I  trust  will  never  occur,  then  insist  upon 
its  acceptance  and  listen  to  nothing  until  it  is  accepted.  Drop 
all  other  pubHc  questions,  concentrate  your  efforts  upon  the 
one  question  which  carries  in  its  bosom  the  issue  of  peace  or  of 
war.  Lay  aside  your  politics  until  this  war  issue  is  settled. 
This  is  the  time  to  be  effective.  And  what  should  the  ministers 
of  the  churches  be  doing?  Very  different  from  what  they 
have  done  in  the  past.  They  should  cease  to  take  shelter  from 
the  storm,  hiding  themselves  in  the  recital  of  the  usual  for- 
mulas pertaining  to  a  future  life  in  which  men  in  this  Hf e  have 
no  duties,  when  the  nation  is  stirred  upon  one  supreme  moral 
issue,  and  its  Government,  asserting  the  right  to  sit  in  judgment 
upon  its  own  cause,  is  on  the  brink  of  committing  the  nation 
to  unholy  war — for  unholy  it  must  be  if  peaceful  settlement 
offered  by  an  adversary  be  refused.  Refusal  to  arbitrate 
makes  war,  even  for  a  good  cause,  unholy;  an  offer  to  arbi- 
trate lends  dignity  and  importance  to  a  poor  one.  Should  all 
efforts  fail,  and  your  country,  rejecting  the  appeal  to  judicial 
arbitration,  plunge  into  war,  your  duty  does  not  end.  Calmly 
resolute  in  adherence  to  your  convictions,  stating  them  when 
called  upon,  though  never  violently  intruding  them,  you  await 
the  result,  which  cannot  fail  to  prove  that  those  who  stood  for 
peaceful  arbitration  chose  the  right  path  and  have  been  wise 
counsellors  of  their  country.  It  is  a  melancholy  fact  that 
nations  looking  back  have  usually  to  confess  that  their  wars 
have  been  blunders,  which  means  they  have  been  crimes. 

And  the  women  of  the  land,  and  the  women  students  of 
St.  Andrew's — what  shall  they  do?     Not  wait  as  usual  until 
war  has  begun,  and  then,  their  sympathies  aroused,  organize 
XXXII  [  34  ] 


ARBITRATION 

innumerable  societies  for  making  and  sending  necessaries  and 
even  luxuries  to  the  front,  or  join  Red  Cross  societies  and  go 
themselves  to  the  field,  nursing  the  wounded  that  these  may 
the  sooner  be  able  to  return  to  the  ranks  to  wound  others  or 
be  again  wounded,  or  to  kill  or  be  killed.  The  tender  chords 
of  sympathy  for  the  injured,  which  grace  women,  and  are  so 
easily  stirred,  are  always  to  be  cherished;  but  it  may  be  sug- 
gested that  were  their  united  voices  raised  in  stern  opposition 
to  war  before  it  was  declared,  urging  the  offer  of  arbitration, 
or  in  earnest  remonstrance  against  refusing  it,  one  day  of  effort 
would  then  prove  more  effective  than  months  of  it  after  war 
has  begun. 

It  is  certain  that  if  the  good  people  of  all  parties  and  creeds, 
sinking  for  the  time  other  political  questions  whenever  the  issue 
of  war  arises,  were  to  demand  arbitration,  no  government 
■dare  refuse.  They  have  it  in  their  power  in  every  emergency 
to  save  their  country  from  war  and  ensure  unbroken  peace. 

If  in  every  constituency  there  were  organized  an  arbitra- 
tion league,  consisting  of  members  who  agree  that  arbitration 
of  international  disputes  must  be  offered,  or  accepted  by  the 
government  if  offered  by  the  adversary,  pledging  themselves 
to  vote  in  support  of,  or  in  opposition  to,  poHtical  parties 
according  to  their  action  upon  this  question,  it  would  be  sur- 
prising how  soon  both  parties  would  accept  arbitration  as  a 
policy.  I  know  of  no  work  that  would  prove  more  fruitful  for 
your  country  and  for  the  world  than  this.  It  is  by  concen- 
trating upon  one  issue  that  great  causes  are  won. 

In  this  holy  work  of  insisting  upon  arbitration,  surely  we 
may  expect  the  men  and  women  of  St.  Andrew's,  of  all  uni- 
versities and  other  educational  institutions,  of  all  the  churches 
and  of  all  the  professions  to  unite  and  take  a  prominent  part. 
I  quoted  the  words  of  Washington  at  the  beginning  of  this 
appeal.  Let  me  close  by  quoting  the  words  of  Lincoln.  When 
a  young  man,  employed  upon  a  trading  boat,  he  made  a  voy- 
age of  some  weeks'  duration  upon  the  Mississippi.  He  visited 
a  slave  market,  where  men,  women,  and  children  were  not 
slaughtered,  as  formerly  in  war,  but  were  separated  and  sold 
from  the  auction  block.  His  companion  tells  that  after  stand- 
XXXII  [35] 


ARBITRATION 

ing  for  some  time  Lincoln  turned  and  walked  silently  away. 
Lifting  his  clenched  hand,  his  first  words  were,  "If  ever  I  get 
a  chance,  I  shall  hit  this  accursed  thing  hard."  Many  years 
passed,  during  which  he  never  failed  to  stand  forth  as  the 
bitter  foe  of  slavery  and  the  champion  of  the  slave.  This  was 
for  him  the  paramount  issue.  He  was  true  to  his  resolve 
throughout  life,  and  in  the  course  of  events  his  time  came  at 
last.  This  poor,  young,  toiling  boatman  became  President  of 
the  United  States,  and  was  privileged  with  a  stroke  of  his  pen 
to  emancipate  the  slaves  last  remaining  in  the  civilized  world, 
four  milHons  in  number.  He  kept  the  faith,  and  gave  the 
lesson  for  all  of  us  in  our  day,  who  have  still  with  us  war  in  all 
its  enormity,  many  of  us  more  or  less  responsible  for  it,  because 
we  have  not  hitherto  placed  it  above  all  other  evils  and  con- 
centrated our  efforts  sufficiently  upon  its  extinction.  Let  us 
resolve  like  Lincoln,  and  select  man-slaying  as  our  foe,  as  he 
did  man-selling.  Let  us,  as  he  did,  subordinate  all  other 
pubHc  questions  to  the  one  overshadowing  question,  and,  as 
he  did,  stand  forth  upon  all  suitable  occasions  to  champion 
the  cause.  Let  us,  Hke  him,  keep  the  faith,  and  as  his  time 
came,  so  to  us  our  time  will  come,  and,  as  it  does,  let  us  hit 
accursed  war  hard  until  we  drive  it  from  the  civilized  world, 
as  he  did  slavery. 


xxxn  [ 36 ] 


XXXIII 


HISTORY 

"VALUE  OF  HISTORY  IN  THE  FORMATION  OF 
CHARACTER " 

BY 

CAROLINE  HAZARD 


PRESIDENT    OF    WELLESLEY    COLLEGE 


/ 


N  view  of  the  appeal  to  history  made  in  support  o}  their 
views  by  both  President  Jordan  and  Mr.  Carnegie,  the 
following  address  by  Miss  Hazard  acquires  special  emphasis. 
Caroline  Hazard,  M.A.,  Litt.D.,  is  one  of  the  only  two  women 
holding  the  rank  of  president  of  a  great  college.  Vassar,  Smith, 
and  Barnard  have  each  of  them  male  rulers.  Hence  President 
Hazard  may  well  speak  with  authority  as  representing  woman 
in  the  realms  of  higher  education,  and  the  value  of  a  knowledge 
of  history  assumes  under  her  urgency  a  peculiar  force.  ' 

How  dearly  we  all  love  a  story !  From  the  time  a  child  can 
listen  at  all  he  rejoices  in  some  simple  tale.  Over  and  over  the 
same  thing  is  demanded,  with  no  variation  allowed  to  the  narra- 
tor; it  must  be  just  the  same  day  after  day,  or  something  is 
lacking  to  the  childish  mind.  And  what  is  history  but  the 
tale  of  the  world?  The  story  of  our  race,  "Geschichte"  the 
Germans  call  it  frankly,  the  story,  the  tale  which  includes  all 
tales.  It  is  strange  that  the  word  story  has  a  double  signifi- 
cance. It  may  be  a  true  or  a  false  story.  Something  has  grown 
into  the  word  of  the  diverse  personalities  of  the  tellers  of  tales. 
The  story  is  told  in  part  only  by  each  narrator;  one  may  con- 
tradict the  other;  one  may  present  a  false  picture,  a  distorted 
report,  and  another  the  unvarnished  truth.  It  is  no  wonder  that 
many  writers  of  history  fell  into  disrepute,  that  fables  and  stories 
were  supposed  to  constitute  the  whole  of  history.  The  tale 
xxxiu  [  I  ] 


HISTORY 

depends  so  much  upon  the  teller.  Is  he  fair?  Is  he  clear  in 
his  perceptions  ?  Is  he  unbiassed  in  his  judgments,  having  no 
theory  to  maintain,  simply  zealous  for  the  truth?  These  arc 
moral  questions  we  ask,  these  are  the  questions  which  are  more 
important  to  the  value  of  historical  work  than  any  learning.  "  It 
was  well  noted  by  that  worthy  gentleman  Sir  Philip  Sydney," 
says  Raleigh,  ''that  historians  do  borrow  of  poets,  not  only 
much  of  their  ornament  but  somewhat  of  their  substance."^ 
And  Lord  Bacon  defines  the  office  of  the  historian.  "It  is,"  he 
says,  "to  represent  the  events  themselves  together  with  the 
counsels,  and  to  leave  the  observations  and  conclusions  there- 
upon to  the  liberty  and  faculty  of  every  man's  judgment."^ 
Bacon  thus  throws  the  moral  responsibility  directly  upon  the 
readers,  not  the  writers,  of  history. 

But  the  old  reproach,  that  historians  wrote  entirely  from 
their  own  point  of  view,  is  rapidly  passing  away.  One  may  be 
recommended  to  read  Macaulay  more  for  the  style  than  for  the 
history.  But  the  method  pursued  in  Guizot's  "History  of  Civil- 
ization" has  obtained  a  larger  and  larger  following,  and  the  mod- 
ern historian,  basing  his  work  on  actual  documents  and  certified 
records,  while  he  makes  perhaps  less  brilliant  reading,  certainly 
gives  a  more  unbiassed  version  of  facts.  More  and  more  the  sci- 
ence of  history  is  developing,  as  people  go  to  the  sources  and 
foundations  rather  than  rely  on  tradition  and  picturesque  state- 
ment. Great  tendencies  are  coming  to  be  looked  for,  more  than 
isolated  facts.  History  is  no  longer  a  list  of  names  and  an 
array  of  dates,  but  a  series  of  living  principles,  a  moral  tendency 
running  through  events  which  are  strung  upon  one  main  string 
Hke  the  beads  on  a  rosary.  More  and  more  our  historians  are 
becoming  profound  moralists.  This,  indeed,  is  almost  inevita- 
ble, for  any  deeper  search  into  the  facts  of  history  is  an  inquiry 
into  the  meaning  of  things.  The  facts  spring  from  the  inner 
necessity  of  the  time  of  their  being,  and  the  philosophical 
inquirer  must  look  deeper  than  the  surface  appearance. 

We  have  lately  lost  a  very  distinguished  example  of  the 
teacher  not  only  of  history  but  of  morals,  and  of  the  vital  con- 

^  Raleigh,  The  History  of  the  World. 
2  Bacon,  Advancement  of  Learning. 

::xxin  [  2  ] 


HISTORY 

nection  existing  between  the  two.  Eminent  as.  were  Mr.  John 
Fiske's  quaUfications  as  a  historian — painstaking  and  accurate 
in  his  research,  briUiant  and  lucid  in  his  presentation — it  was 
yet  his  profound  moral  convictions  which  illuminated  his  work 
and  gave  it  its  great  value.  What  a  splendid  monument  he  has 
left — beginning  with  the  "Discovery  of  America,"  tracing  the 
influence  of  "  Old  Virginia"  and  her  neighbors,  and  the  *'  Be- 
ginnings of  New  England,"  through  the  "American  Revolu- 
tion" and  the  "Critical  Period  of  American  History,"  taking  in 
as  a  side-light  the  "  Dutch  Contribution  to  the  Development  of 
America,"  and  finally  ending  with  the  "Growth  of  the  Missis- 
sippi"— what  a  great  and  continuous  work  he  has  left! 
The  very  enumeration  of  the  titles  of  his  books  shows  the 
grasp  that  he  had  on  the  subject.  But  greater  even  than  these 
are  some  of  the  books  he  wrote  showing  his  profound  appre- 
ciation of  the  destiny  of  man.  It  was  this  "  Destiny  of  Man," 
viewed  in  the  light  of  his  origin,  which  enabled  him  to  set  forth 
these  great  world  movements.  It  was  his  profound  conviction 
of  the  worth  of  man's  Kfe  which  gave  the  work  of  man's  life  its 
supreme  value  in  his  eyes.  Through  Nature  to  God  was  his  con- 
stant theme.  His  important  philosophical  books  are  brief,  and 
the  bulk  of  his  philosophical  writings  not  so  great  as  his  histor- 
ical work,  but  its  influence  upon  his  day  and  generation  has  been 
most  profound. 

I  was  in  England  at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  was  much 
interested  to  see  the  Enghsh  comments.  The  great  dailies,  of 
course,  had  some  adequate  idea  of  his  work,  at  least  as  far  as  the 
enumeration  of  the  titles  of  his  books.  But  one  of  the  most 
appreciative  of  the  notices  was  in  a  nonconformist  weekly  of 
large  and  influential  circulation  in  Great  Britain.  This  spoke 
of  his  "  Destiny  of  Man"  and  of  his  work  as  a  devout  Darwinist 
with  the  greatest  respect,  dwelling  upon  him  as  a  profound  phi- 
losopher, and  ending  with  some  such  sentence  as  this:  "He  is 
said  to  have  written  historical  books,  but  we  have  not  seen  them." 
It  made  one  smile  to  think  what  fame  is  in  another  country,  be- 
cause to  us  certainly  the  bulk  of  John  Fiske's  work  is  his  histori- 
cal work  rather  than  his  philosophical. 

But  the  point  I  want  to  make  is  that  the  true  historian  must 
XXXIII  [  3  ] 


HISTORY 

be  a  philosopher,  and,  if  a  philosopher,  then  an  inquirer  into 
moral  tendencies,  into  the  great  drift  and  trend  of  national  life. 
This  principle  must  run  through  all  the  work  of  any  genuine  his- 
torian. We  are  a  little  in  danger  in  this  country  of  exalting  our 
own  history,  which  is  after  all  local,  of  forgetting  that  we  are 
part  of  the  whole.  Of  course  it  is  necessary  to  teach  our  young 
people  American  history,  and  the  great  events  which  have  led 
to  our  being  what  we  are.  But  we  are  only  one  link  in  the  chain 
of  events.  We  have  only  advanced  freedom  and  liberty  to  its 
highest  degree  along  the  line  which  was  prepared  for  us  as 
early  as  the  Reformation.  To  teach  a  child  anything  Hke  the 
proper  place  of  America  in  the  history  of  the  world  seems  to  me 
one  of  the  great  tasks  which  our  schools  should  try  to  fulfil.  Of 
course  this  cannot  be  done  quickly.  The  idea  of  continuity, 
however,  is  an  idea  which  can  be  given  at  the  very  beginning  of 
any  historical  study.  We  are  too  apt  to  take  up  the  study  of 
history  in  mosaic  fashion,  here  a  bit  and  there  a  bit,  quite  care- 
fully worked  over  and  prepared,  but  without  any  idea  of  how  it 
fits  together.  The  study  of  Roman  history  has  become  one  of 
the  requirements,  lately,  for  entrance  examinations,  and  it  seems 
to  me  a  most  valuable  addition  to  college-entrance  require- 
ments. Roman  law,  after  all,  is  the  foundation  of  all  our  juris- 
prudence, and  though  the  real  historian  may  say  that  in  choosing 
Rome  as  a  starting-point  we  are  making  an  arbitrary  choice,  and 
that  we  should  go  back  into  the  Far  East  and  into  the  dim 
recesses  of  time,  yet,  after  all,  the  Roman  civilization  is  the  first 
civilization  of  which  we  can  have  much  definite  knowledge,  and, 
therefore,  is  a  convenient  and  a  safe  starting-point  for  all  subse- 
quent historical  work. 

This  is  not  the  time  to  consider  the  relations  of  national 
character  to  national  history.  The  history  has  grown  out  of  the 
development  of  character,  and  character,  conversely,  has  been 
moulded  by  the  history  of  the  nation.  We  think  of  Switzerland 
as  a  synonym  for  freedom,  and  the  Swiss  have  been  nurtured  on 
the  recital  of  the  deeds  of  their  forefathers.  The  Scottish  peo- 
ple, too,  with  their  devotion  of  loyalty,  their  keenness  and 
shrewdness  learned  in  many  a  border  warfare  and  many  a  fight 
for  a  losing  cause,  are  an  example  of  what  the  history  of  their 
xxxin  [  4  ] 


HISTORY 

nation  has  made  them.  Who  that  hears  "  Bonnie  CharHe  "  sung 
as  it  can  be  sung  in  Scotland,  but  is  touched  by  that  longing 
for  the  unattainable  which  is  the  blessing  and  the  despair  of  the 
idealist  ? 

Will  you  no'  come  back  again? 
Better  lo'ed  ye  canna  be, 
Will  ye  no'  come  back  again? 

The  whole  episode  is  summed  up  in  a  few  verses  of  a  song, 
perhaps  the  most  potent  result  of  that  ill-starred  attempt.  For 
in  this  all  the  highest  emotions  of  a  patriot  find  play.  It  was 
the  literal  Prince  Charlie  to  whom  the  people  looked  as  their 
best  good ;  it  is  now  all  devotion  and  loyalty  to  all  good  things 
that  speaks  in  the  touching  refrain  of  a  song  universally 
beloved. 

But  the  special  theme  for  this  evening  is  the  "Relation  of 
the  Study  of  History  to  the  Formation  of  Character,"  and  it 
seems  to  me,  in  a  country  such  as  our  own,  with  a  population 
made  up  of  diverse  elements,  where  the  force  of  tradition  is  of 
necessity  limited — where,  indeed,  in  many  parts  of  the  country 
we  are  making  traditions,  so  far  as  civilization  is  concerned — 
that  the  study  of  history  as  a  contribution  to  the  formation  of  a 
sound  and  useful  character  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  We  are 
in  danger  of  exalting  the  new  unduly.  There  are  countries 
bound  by  custom,  where  "as  it  was,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be" 
is  the  height  of  man's  ambition.  Of  Infinite  Perfection  alone  can 
this  be  said,  and  in  our  haste  for  improvement  we  rush  to  the 
other  extreme,  often  thinking  that  because  a  thing  is  new  it  must 
be  better  than  what  went  before.  Here  historical  study  comes 
in  as  a  corrective.  Often  we  find  the  thing  that  we  thought  new 
only  an  old  project  under  a  slightly  different  aspect.  As  an 
instance  of  what  I  mean,  I  mention  a  paper  of  1780,  which  in  its 
own  neighborhood  had  some  effect  in  the  agitation  for  the  estab- 
Hshment  of  the  gold  standard  in  1893  and  1894.  All  through 
the  closing  years  of  the  eighteenth  century  Rhode  Island  was 
plunged  in  financial  difficulties  by  the  successive  issues  of  paper 
money  which  it  had  no  means  of  redeeming.  The  declaration 
to  which  I  refer  records  on  oath  that  a  certain  Colonel  Segar 
xxxin  [  5  ] 


HISTORY 

made  a  tender  of  $2,icxd  to  Mr.  William  Knowles,  of  South 
Kingstown,  to  discharge  two  bonds  and  a  note,  but  that 
''Knowles  refused  to  take  the  same,  saying  that  he  would  not 
take  such  trash  as  that  was,  but  if  said  Samuel  Segar  would 
pay  him  in  the  same  sort  of  money  the  said  Segar  had  of  said 
Knowles,  he  would  take  it."  With  this  declaration  the  paper 
money  tendered  in  payment  was  found,  the  whole  making 
an  impressive  lesson  in  the  evils  of  an  inflated  currency.  One  is 
apt  to  exclaim  with  Solomon  that  there  is  no  new  thing  under 
the  sun,  in  spite  of  our  eager  quest,  and  to  believe  that  the  past, 
if  duly  searched,  could  always  furnish  analogies  and  precedents 
for  the  present.  We  must  know  the  past  as  a  guide  to  the 
future,  for  not  only  does  the  study  of  history  give  a  firm  founda- 
tion for  growth,  but  it  furnishes  actual  instances,  full  of  helpful 
suggestion. 

There  is  no  virtue  we  need  to  cultivate  more  than  that  of 
patriotism.  America  is  a  fair  new  world,  and  she  welcomes 
many  sons.  What  does  she  do  with  them?  We  are  learning 
to  our  bitter  grief  it  is  not  enough  to  receive  them,  to  give 
them  free  air  to  breathe;  they  must  be  trained.  The  seeds  of 
oppression  and  wrong  sown  in  Poland  and  Russia  may  bear  their 
bitter  fruit  fostered  by  our  genial  sun.  The  whole  nation  has 
been  stirred  to  its  very  heart  to  see  that  this  is  possible.  Given 
light  and  air,  we  had  fondly  supposed  that  anarchy  and  revenge 
would  hide  their  heads  and  quickly  die.  And  they  will;  the 
forces  of  good  are  sure  to  win  in  the  end;  and  the  costly  sacri- 
fice which  has  been  laid  on  the  altar  of  freedom  will  hasten 
that  end.  But  have  we  no  responsibility?  Should  not  the 
schools  redouble  their  efforts  ?  Should  not  the  teachers  of  his- 
tory especially  draw  lessons  from  the  lives  of  patriots  and  lead- 
ers of  the  people  which  shall  inspire  a  love  of  country,  a  pride 
in  our  native  land,  and  a  cheerful  acquiescence  in  her  laws  ?  We 
are  led  by  example  rather  than  precept;  and  hero-w^orship  is  a 
safe  channel  for  the  youthful  imagination.  Cannot  our  best 
men  be  made  to  live  again  before  the  minds  of  school  children 
to  stimulate  and  incite  them  to  the  practice  of  their  vir- 
tues? 

You  remember  Browning's  account  of  the  chairs  and  tables 
XXXIII  [  6  ] 


HISTORY 

his  father  piled  together  for  the  siege  of  Troy,  set  him  atop  for 
Priam, 

called  our  cat 
Helen,  enticed  away  from  home  he  said 
By  wicked  Paris,  who  crouched  somewhere  close 
Under  the  footstool,  being  cowardly. 
But  whom — since  she  was  worth  the  pains,  poor  puss — 
Towzer  and  Tray,  our  dogs,  the  Atreidai,  sought. 
By  taking  Troy  to  get  possession  of. 

This  taught  me  who  was  who  and  what  was  what. 

So  far  I  rightly  understood  the  case 

At  five  years  old;  a  huge  delight  it  proved 

And  still  proves,  thanks  to  that  instructor  sage. 

My  father,  who  knew  better  than  turn  straight 

Learning's  full  flare  on  weak-eyed  ignorance. 

This,  indeed,  is  the  ideal  method,  to  capture  the  young  imag- 
ination, to  give  it  noble  and  fine  pictures  to  dwell  upon,  to  lead 
the  child's  mind  to  the  perception  of  truth  and  beauty.  With 
the  whole  story  of  the  world  to  choose  from,  there  can  hardly  be 
any  lack  of  material.  A  wise  teacher  must'  select  and  present 
tct  his  scholars  what  arouses  his  own  enthusiasm.  One  fine 
spirit  can  literally  inspire  many  others. 

And  if  patriotism  can  be  inculcated  by  a  study  of  history,  no 
less  so  can  personal  honor.  Who  can  say  how  great  an  effect 
the  romances  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  have  had  in  holding  up  pure 
and  true  characters  to  admiration,  and  in  exposing  the  futility 
as  well  as  the  evils  of  a  career  of  duplicity  and  deceit  ?  The 
modern  historical  novel,  with  its  quicker  movement  and  more 
terse  style ,  fulfils  its  object  in  presenting  a  Hving  picture  of  the 
time  no  better  than  the  more  leisurely  tales  of  the  great  northern 
writer.  Our  own  American  historians  have  told  their  stories 
without  the  adventitious  aids  of  romance,  and  yet  have  given  us 
fascinating  books,  full  of  the  deepest  interest.  The  pages 
of  Parkman  need  no  embellishment  of  fiction  to  hold  the  closest 
attention.  Scholarship  and  beauty  of  style  are  both  exemplified 
by  Motley,  and  John  Fiske  presents  us  one  leader  after  another 
in  clearly  defined  and  exquisite  portraiture.  Surely  from  these 
storehouses  our  young  people  have  treasures  the  value  of  which 
they  have  not  fully  appreciated;  examples  of  right  living  and 
XXXIII  [  7  ] 


HISTORY 

high  thinking  which  should  become  part  of  the  mental  furniture 
of  each  scholar. 

But  to  come  to  a  more  particular  consideration  of  the  effect 
of  historical  study  upon  character,  I  should  say  in  the  first  place 
that  it  demands  absolute  accuracy.  Even  if  historical  study  is 
pursued  in  the  old  dry-as-dust  fashion,  this  mental  habit  must  be 
fostered.  There  are  still  some  people  who  regard  long  lists  of 
the  kings  of  England  and  a  string  of  dates  as  being  the  sum  of 
historical  study.  Partial  as  this  view  is,  it  has  an  element  of 
truth,  for  the  dates  are  pegs  to  hang  our  hats  on — are  very  neces- 
sary for  all  subsequent  and  wider  study.  And  learning  them  is 
good  mental  discipline.  This  accuracy  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
character.  Truth,  exact  truth,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  learned, 
becomes  the  aim  of  the  scholar.  The  accuracy  which  histori- 
cal study  teaches  is  of  especial  value  in  such  a  community  as 
ours,  where  the  ordinary  forms  of  speech  run  to  humorous 
exaggeration.  Who  has  not  seen  a  child  puzzled  by  some  fanci- 
ful speech  of  an  older  person,  not  knowing  whether  to  take  it 
seriously  or  not?  Such  surprising  things  are  true,  one  cannot 
wonder  that  the  youthful  imagination  will  accept  the  wildest 
statements.  We  are  as  a  people  careless  in  our  ordinary  con- 
versation, loving  hyperbole  and  suggestion.  This  gives  piquancy 
and  flavor  to  our  intercourse  with  each  other,  and  is  delightful 
as  a  play  of  fancy,  giving  a  shining  and  pleasant  surface  to 
society,  but  there  must  be  a  depth  of  current  underneath  these 
sparkling  waves  of  thought,  or  the  shallows  become  painfully 
apparent.  A  sound  and  accurate  basis  of  fact  is  the  first  and 
foremost  contribution  which  historical  study  makes  to  the  culti- 
vated man. 

To  the  accuracy  which  such  study  teaches,  perseverance  must 
be  added.  All  study,  no  matter  how  delightful,  has  its  drudgery. 
We  must  pursue  for  the  sake  of  the  end  in  view  very  often,  not 
for  the  pleasure  of  the  immediate  moment.  This  is  hard  to  make 
a  child  realize.  He  must  simply  do  the  work  assigned  him  obe- 
diently, leaving  the  end  to  be  gained  out  of  sight ;  an  end  which 
his  parents  and  teachers  can  appreciate,  but  which  he  cannot 
yet  see.  Accuracy  and  perseverance  must  enter  into  all  study, 
but  without  them  historical  study  is  impossible.  These  two  are 
XXXIII  [  8  ] 


HISTORY 

certainly  moral  qualities  most  desirable  to  foster,  most  essential 
to  the  growth  of  a  strong  character.  And  with  these  two 
comes  the  v,se  of  the  imagination.  In  childhood  the  imagina- 
tion is  particularly  strong.  A  little  child  often  has  no  idea  of 
what  we  call  truth.  The  external  world  has  not  yet  become 
real.  Its  own  thoughts,  its  own  fancies,  are  quite  as  real  to  it. 
The  distinction  between  "I  did"  and  "I  thought"  does  not  yet 
exist.  The  external  world  takes  hold  slowly.  This  power  of 
imagination  which  a  child  has  can  be  trained  and  developed,  and 
there  are  few  better  ways  to  do  it  than  by  historical  reading. 
Here  a  basis  is  given  for  the  play  of  the  imagination.  The  child 
is  not  allowed  to  dissipate  his  fancies;  there  is  some  solid  foun- 
dation; his  thought,  Uke  a  falcon,  is  held  in  leash  and  sent  after 
its  quarry. 

These  qualities  of  accuracy,  perseverance,  and  proper  con- 
trol of  the  imagination  all  come  into  play  at  a  little  later  period  of 
historical  work  from  that  of  which  I  have  just  been  speaking, 
when  a  student  is  able  to  take  up  a  problem  for  himself.     It 
seems  to  me  a  most  valuable  thing  to  have  a  young  student 
see  for  himself   the  sources  of  history.     This   can  be  done 
in  most  of  our  New  England  towns  by  an  actual  visit  to  the 
town  record  office.     Dry  and  musty  papers  which  are  so  dear 
to  the  heart  of  a  historian  may  seem  very  prosaic  and  trivial  to 
the  young  student ;  but  give  him  a  problem  to  work  out,  and  let 
him  find  the  real  uses  of  the  papers,  and  they  quickly  acquire  a 
charm,  and  open  the  recesses  of  the  past  to  him  with  an  enchant- 
er's wand.     In  one  school  I  know  distinct  problems  have  been 
set  in  local  history— as  to  the  existence  of  slavery,  for  instance, 
in  that  particular  township;  an  inquiry  as  to  the  methods  of 
apprenticeship,  or  the  export  of  certain  crops  could  be  made,  of 
which  records  can  be  obtained  in  the  office  of  the  town  clerk. 
The  records  that  I  am  most  f  amiUar  with  are  in  the  keeping  of  a 
town  clerk  elected  to  that  office  for  many  years,  so  that  he  has  a 
personal  pride  and  delight  in  the  work.     Nothing  is  more  inter- 
esting to  the  young  student  than  to  be  allowed  to  take  down  a 
volume  of  records  of  the  eighteenth  century  kept  in  the  fine  cleri- 
cal hand  of  the  period,  and  under  the  legal  phraseology  and  cum- 
bersome repetition  of  names  to  discover  the  truth  for  which  he 
xxxin  [  9  ] 


HISTORY 

is  seeking.  In  this  particular  record  office  there  are  deeds  of 
gift  from  Samuel  Sewall  to  the  town,  and  I  never  shall  forget  the 
delight  with  which  the  discovery  was  finally  made  of  the  actual 
site  and  the  actual  conditions  under  which  the  meeting-house  lot 
was  presented  to  the  town. 

In  all  such  study  the  quahties  which  I  have  spoken  of, 
unfaihng  accuracy  never  passing  beyond  the  bounds  of  truth; 
steady  perseverance  to  pursue  the  end  sought ;  and  then  a  trained 
imagination  enabling  the  student  from  bare  facts  to  reconstruct 
the  past,  to  form  some  rational  theory  as  to  why  the  man  who 
made  the  deed  did  so,  what  his  motives  must  have  been,  and 
how  the  final  act  was  accepted  by  his  neighbors ;  all  this  involves 
and  implies  high  capacity,  and  moral  as  well  as  intellectual 
power. 

The  traveller  in  foreign  countries  notices  this  pride  of  locality. 
What  Scotchman  will  not  tell  you  the  story  of  a  border  warfare 
or  some  midnight  raid?  How  the  Rhine  teems  with  legends 
and  tales  of  barons  and  knights!  How  replete  is  the  storied 
land  of  Italy  with  interest  and  tales  that  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tion !  Our  own  history,  so  far  as  it  concerns  the  occupation  of 
America  by  the  Caucasian  race,  is  brief,  but  it  has  its  heroic 
episodes,  and  one  of  the  great  missions  of  the  history  teacher  is 
to  gather  from  this  story.  Unfortunately,  where  there  is  short 
continuity  of  family  life,  tradition,  and  legend,  the  penumbra  of 
historic  fact  is  sadly  interrupted.  It  is  this  which  gives  poetry 
and  charm  to  the  life  of  a  people.  We,  in  New  England,  are 
far  richer  in  this  respect  than  any  of  our  neighbors,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  the  Virginians.  Here  the  bond  to  the  old 
country  is  strongest;  here  the  very  names  of  our  towns  recall 
the  counties  of  England:  Gloucester,  and  Plymouth,  and  the 
west  country  names  appear  on  our  barren  east  shore.  By  no 
great  stretch  of  the  imagination  we  find  our  places  in  our  Eng- 
lish homes  as  well  as  in  our  homes  of  New  England,  and  I  would 
caution  our  teachers  of  local  history  to  try  to  make  this  con- 
nection. Without  this  we  are  in  danger  of  regarding  ourselves 
too  much  from  an  isolated  point  of  view;  we  become  excres- 
cences on  the  growth  of  the  world  rather  than  an  integral  part 
of  it;  an  island  set  in  the  world's  current,  rather  than  a  contrib- 
XXXIII  [  lo  ] 


HISTORY 

uting  stream.  And  in  magnifying  our  own  history  let  us 
not  forget  the  general  history  of  our  country.  While  the  Revo- 
lution was  being  fought  on  the  eastern  coast,  a  peaceful  revolu- 
tion was  going  on  in  the  west,  on  the  slopes  of  the  Pacific,  where 
the  olive  and  the  orange  and  the  vine  were  being  planted  by 
pious  hands,  and  a  peaceful  and  mighty  revolution  in  the  old 
order  of  nature  was  taking  place.  When  the  Pilgrim  fathers 
were  landed  in  the  East,  already  Spanish  missionaries  had  pene- 
trated beyond  our  present  southern  border,  and  were  scattering 
the  seeds  of  Spanish  civilization  in  what  was  to  be  our  great 
western  country.  A  little  later  the  French  came  down  from  the 
North,  meeting  the  civilization  creeping  up  the  great  river,  the 
artery  of  the  new  world,  so  that  from  many  and  diverse  sources 
our  present  civiHzation  has  grown.  New  England  was  an 
important  factor  in  this,  but  it  becomes  us  New  Englanders  to 
be  modest  and  recognize  the  origin  of  the  other  streams  which 
have  poured  their  life  blood  into  our  present  commonwealth. 

In  addition  to  the  mental  training  to  which  the  study  of  his- 
tory should  contribute,  there  are  other  great  moral  lessons  which 
it  should  teach.  First,  I  would  mention  that  the  study  of  history 
inculcates  the  rule  of  law.  Any  wise  student  of  history  cannot 
fail  to  bring  out  in  bold  relief  the  necessity  and  wisdom  of  sub- 
mitting to  law,  and  the  inexorability  of  the  law  itself.  Conse- 
quences follow  unerringly  upon  the  breaking  of  any  of  the  great 
laws.  Marie  Antoinette  was  beheaded.  This  in  itself  is  an  iso- 
lated fact  without  special  significance  to  the  young  student's 
mind.  Let  him  inquire  into  the  causes  of  this  event;  let  him 
understand  something  of  the  condition  of  the  French  people  be- 
fore the  Revolution — of  their  rights  trampled  upon,  of  the  ar- 
rogant assumption  of  power  by  the  nobles — and  he  will  see  that 
some  such  fact  as  this  was  the  logical  outcome  of  the  conditions ; 
that  the  great  law  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  must  assert 
itself;  that  it  could  not  be  kept  under.  There  have  been 
triumphs  of  injustice,  there  have  been  times  of  terrible  misrule, 
but  the  reign  of  law  has  been  vindicated,  the  results  of  anarchy 
have  been  overthrown. 

And  in  a  country  like  ours  reverence  is  another  virtue  which 
history  teaches  us,  and  which  we  are  in  especial  need  of  learning. 

XXXIII  [  1 1  ] 


HISTORY 

We  are  apt  to  see  the  humorous  side  of  things  too  clearly.  The 
typical  American  hides  his  feelings  under  some  light  and  flip- 
pant exclamation.  We  are  hardly  old  enough  yet  to  dare  to  be 
as  reverent  as  we  truly  are.  It  takes  poise  and  security  of  one's 
own  position  to  be  absolutely  simple,  for  simplicity,  far  from 
being  the  simple  thing  that  seems,  often  comes  to  us  through 
complexity.  It  is  history  and  historical  study  which  should 
teach  us  reverence.  For  is  not  reverence  at  the  foundation  of 
all  respect?  To  respect  the  right  of  others  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  all  true  democracy,  one  must  have  a  reverent  spirit, 
a  spirit  which  can  see  and  revere  all  that  is  good  and  right, 
though  presented  in  very  varying  conditions,  and  with  no  adven- 
titious aids  of  outward  circumstances.  "A  man's  a  man  for  a' 
that"  lies  at  the  root  of  free  institutions.  In  respect  for  the  life 
of  men,  in  reverence  for  the  aims  of  the  spirit  of  man,  history  is 
best  qualified  to  instruct  us.  It  is  the  life  of  the  great  men  who 
have  gone  before  us  which  is  our  greatest  inspiration.  Their 
life  and  their  character  still  live  in  the  world.  We  who  have 
come  after  can  only  accept  what  is  good  in  them  with  devout 
thankfulness,  and  try  to  imitate  their  virtues. 

And  the  highest  and  best  of  all  the  teachings  of  history  should 
be  reverence  for  truth.  Truth  is  so  many-sided;  she  veils 
her  face  behind  so  many  veils.  But  what  can  be  more  in- 
spiring than  the  search  for  truth?  As  we  see  a  little  further, 
as  we  redouble  our  efforts  to  find  her,  do  we  not  receive  the 
highest  reward  and  the  highest  incentive  to  our  study?  The 
whole  of  life  is  so  closely  woven  together  that  what  seems  an 
isolated  event  is  of  vital  importance  and  connection  with  what 
goes  before  and  what  comes  after.  To  see  a  little  farther,  to 
trace  some  unknown  connection,  what  greater  reward  can  any 
study  offer,  what  higher  satisfaction  ?  As  the  painter  before  his 
landscape  sees  more  and  more  of  beauty,  as  to  his  trained  eye 
the  shadows  become  full  of  living  color,  and  his  subject  glows 
with  more  than  the  light  of  day,  as  exquisite  relations  and  unseen 
beauties  reveal  themselves,  so  with  the  historical  student.  The 
period  of  his  study  becomes  vital  with  living  interest.  Facts 
group  themselves  about  the  central  events,  side  lights  are  thrown 
by  contemporary  documents,  truth  becomes  more  lovely  and 

XXXIII  [  12  ] 


HISTORY 

more  alluring  as  the  ultimate  foundations  recede  before  the  eager 
search,  and  hide  themselves  in  the  mysterious  recesses  of  the 
human  will.  But  to  gain  one  little  point,  to  establish  one  small 
link  in  the  great  chain  of  the  growth  of  the  world,  what  delight 
can  be  keener,  what  quest  more  honorable?  For  "what  has 
been  ever  shall  be,"  better,  larger,  more  inclusive.  Good  in  by- 
gone days  may  not  be  just  our  good,  but  its  quality  cannot 
change,  though  we  spell  it  differently.  We  must  be  saved 
because  we  cling 

"To  the  same,  same  self,  same  love, 
Same  God;  ay,  what  was  shall  be.'- 

It  is  the  passion  for  truth  which  is  the  scholar's  passion,  and 
the  promise  of  truth  which  is  the  scholar's  highest  reward.  If 
we  look  for  truth  in  times  that  have  gone  by;  if  we  look  for  it 
in  the  history  of  our  own  place  and  our  own  local  habitation, 
shall  we  not  reverence  it  more  and  more  in  our  own  lives? 
Shall  we  not  appreciate  that  we  too  are  making  history,  and  that 
we  must  make  it  on  the  side  of  righteousness  ? 

Is  this  too  much  to  expect  of  the  study  of  history  ?  It  should 
give  a  background  for  the  whole  of  life,  it  should  furnish  a 
working  theory  of  the  advance  of  the  world.  It  is  not  a  fixed 
science;  constant  contributions  are  made  to  it  by  research  and 
by  philosophy.  New  schools  are  constantly  arising  among  its 
votaries,  but  its  basis  is  on  fact,  and  its  growth  is  the  growth  of 
the  life  of  man.  It  teaches  us  great  lessons,  lessons  at  the 
foundation  of  right  thinking  and  right  living,  the  immuta- 
bility of  law,  reverence,  and  the  love  of  truth.  These  are 
lessons  worth  the  learning,  lessons  which  carry  their  reward  with 
them  in  the  promise  of  future  growth  and  achievement.  These 
are  lessons  woven  into  the  very  texture  of  freedom,  without 
which  there  can  be  no  stability.  "  Ye  shall  know  the  truth,  and 
the  truth  shall  make  you  free." 


xxxiii  [  13  ] 


XXXIV 


THE  POWER  OF  RELIGION 

"RELIGION      STILL     THE    KEY     TO      HISTORY 

BY 

SIMEON  EBEN  BALDWIN 

FORMER    PRESIDENT    OF    THE    AMERICAN    HISTORICAL    ASSOCIATION;      PROFESSOR    OF 
CONSTITUTIONAL    LAW,     YALE    UNIVERSITY 


CT^HE  thought  of  peace  is  ever  closely  associate,  in  our 
minds  ivith  the  thought  oj  religion.  If  peace  and  good 
will  to  man  are  ever  really  to  rule  the  earthy  it  must  he  largely 
by  the  force  of  religion,  that  is,  by  faith  and  aspiration,  that  the 
mighty  triumph  shall  be  accomplished.  To  many  men,  looking 
back  on  the  days  of  an  imperious^  iron-clad  church,  summoning 
the  force  of  armies  and  inquisitions  to  impose  her  will  upon 
emperors  and  nations,  the  power  of  religion  has  seemed  to  be 
grown  faint.  It  has  even  become  common  to  cry  out  against 
our  age  as  one  of  doubt  and  little  faith.  Yet  if  we  will  read 
beneath  the  surface,  if  we  will  accept  here  the  guidance  of  a 
specialist  in  the  field  of  both  law  and  history,  we  shall  learn  of 
other  views,  of  subtler,  deeper  truths  as  to  what  religion  does 
and  yet  shall  do  in  moulding  life. 

Professor  Baldwin  is  not  only  the  late  retiring  President  of 
the  American  Historical  Association,  before  whose  most  recent 
annual  meeting  this  address  was  delivered.  He  is  also  Pro- 
fessor of  Constitutional  Law  at  Yale  University,  and  a  Judge  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  Connecticut.  Such  a  man  is  to  be  led 
astray  neither  by  sentiment  nor  by  superficial  analysis;  and 
when  he  declares  the  power  and  influence  of  religion  to  he  of  such 

XXXIV  [  I  ] 


THE  POWER  OF  RELIGION 

weight  as  he  here  asserts,  those  of  us  who  have  dismissed  the 
subject  as  an  obsolete  or  dying  one  must  revise  our  judgments — 
or  defend  them  against  the  Judge. 

There  are  three  men  in  the  world  whose  daily  doings  and 
sayings  especially  interest  it — the  Emperor  William,  President 
Roosevelt,  and  the  Pope  of  Rome.  Two  command  public 
attention  by  the  union  of  great  official  powers  with  strong 
native  faculties  of  mind  and  will.  The  third  commands  it 
almost  purely  from  his  official  character.  He  governs  no 
territory,  although  his  authority  is  daily  felt  in  the  remotest 
quarters  of  the  globe,  and  he  holds  a  court  to  which  great 
nations  send  ambassadors.  In  the  sphere  where  he  does  bear 
rule,  he  has  evinced  no  faculty  of  individual  initiative.  He 
has  no  force  of  speech,  no  power  of  the  pen.  The  son  of  a 
simple  peasant,  his  greatness  consists  in  his  headship  of  a. 
venerable  and  world-wide  church,  and  in  his  thus  standing, 
more  than  any  other  man,  as  the  representative  of  a  great 
religion. 

Lamprecht  tells  us  that  history  is  ''an  sich  nichts  als  ange- 
wandte  Psychologic."  To  this  extent  certainly  the  epigram 
rings  true  that  history  can  never  neglect  to  take  into  account 
whatever  psychological  forces  move  peoples  or  actuate  leaders 
of  peoples.  Such  a  force  has  always  been  found,  is  still  found, 
in  religion.  It  is  one  of  those — vague,  impulsive,  constant  in 
play,  inconstant  in  intensity — which  deny  to  the  historical 
student  the  power  of  scientific  prediction. 

Ours  is  an  age  of  more  reverence  for  human  reason  and  less 
reverence  for  human  authority.  But  as  reverence  for  human 
authority  becomes  less,  a  conviction  deepens  that  men  are 
subject  to  a  power  greater  than  themselves.  We  may  call  it 
Nature,  or  call  it  God.  What  we  know  is  that  it  speaks  by 
laws — invariable  laws.  What  we  feel  is  that  it  is  a  thing  of 
mystery — too  great  to  be  measured  from  earth;  too  far  from 
man,  near  though  it  be  at  every  step,  to  be  so  much  as  seen  in 
all  its  outline  by  his  philosophy. 

The  relation  of  history  to  religion  has  been  greatly  changed 
during  the  last  two  centuries.    What  we  call  modern  history, 

XXXIV  [  2  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

and  distant  times  may  deem  to  be  that  of  the  Middle  Ages,  had 
its  real  beginning  when  modern  government  arose,  and  that 
was  when  the  peoples  of  France  and  the  United  States,  as  they 
gathered  in  the  fruits  of  their  revolutions,  pronounced  that 
absolute  religious  liberty  was  one.  Civil  liberty  and  popular 
government  were  no  new  things  in  the  world.  A  state  without 
a  church  was.  Guizot  has  said  that  Democracy  was  intro- 
duced into  Europe  by  a  foreign  missionary  named  Paul.  If 
this  be  so,  it  was  a  democracy  whose  motive  and  sphere  were 
religious.  Political  democracy  dissevered  from  religion  was 
to  come  seventeen  centuries  later. 

It  was  to  take  from  religion  its  legal  authority,  but  only  to 
strengthen  its  moral  power.  Until  the  "ideas  of  1789"  took 
formal  shape,  history  had  been  the  record  of  what  the  few  did 
with  the  help  of  the  many.  It  has  since  been  the  record  of 
what  the  many  do,  with  the  help  of  the  few.  It  may  well  be 
that  at  some  time  the  leaders — the  few  who  are  in  authority 
in  any  nation — may  be  careless  of  religion.  The  many — or,  at 
the  least,  the  whole  people — never  will  be.  If  a  majority 
should  be  indiffercntists  or  irreligious,  the  minority  will  be  all 
the  more  devoted  to  the  cause  to  which  they  attribute  a  sacred 
character. 

Religion  offers  in  statecraft  a  means  of  resting  policy  upon 
principle.  It  is,  as  Talleyrand  has  said,  only  when  rested 
upon  principle  that  a  policy  can  endure/  The  principles 
sanctioned  by  the  religion  of  the  time  are  incontestable.  Later 
times  may  discard  them.  But  to  each  generation  of  any 
people  the  principles  instilled  by  ministers  of  religion  under 
the  sanction  of  the  church  will  permeate  society  and  become 
a  part  of  its  being — of  what  in  the  truest  sense  is  its  political 
constitution. 

I  use  religion  to  signify  something  real,  and  not  less  real 
because  to  one  set  of  men  it  is  one  thing,  to  another  set  another 
thing.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  Renan  was  right  when  he 
said  that  ''Les  religions,  comme  les  philosophies,  sent  toutes 
vaines;    mais  la  rehgion,    pas  plus  que  la  philosophic,  n'est 

^  Memoirs,  Putnam's  edition,  II.  124. 
XXXIV  [  3  ] 


THE   POWER  OF  RELIGION 

vainc."^  No  religion  is  wholly  vain.  Each  is  true  to  its 
disciples,  and  in  its  truth  to  them  inspires  their  lives.  History 
has  to  do  v^ith  all  religions,  because  it  has  to  do  with  all  men. 

Every  great  religion  has  come  at  the  beginning  with  a  resist- 
less power.  It  comes  as  the  expression  by  some  clear-sighted, 
high-strung  leader  of  men  of  what  has  long  lain  confusedly  in 
the  minds  of  many  of  his  fellow  countrymen,  now  first  really 
disclosed  to  them  and  clothed  with  a  light  and  power  that  is 
wholly  new.  There  is  a  truth  in  it,  or  it  would  not  be  great; 
and  truth  endures. 

Such  a  religion  has  a  beginning,  but  it  will  have  no  end 
until  the  national  ideas  of  the  peoples  to  whom  it  has  presented 
a  new  conception  of  life  are  radically  changed.  It  worked  a 
social  revolution  when  it  first  appeared,  but  the  shock  of  it 
then,  however  great,  was  less  of  a  world  force  than  the  trembling, 
far-diffused,  which  in  after  years  and  ages  has  marked  its 
continued  life.  It  is  a  permanent  addition  to  the  energies  of 
civiHzation. 

As  a  key  to  history,  religion  has  changed  its  form  since  the 
overthrow  of  the  ancient  order  of  things  that  marked  the  close 
of  the  eighteenth  century;  but  its  strength  remains  the  same. 

Once  that  strength  was  largely  found  in  the  power  of  an 
established  church,  or  of  a  sentiment  of  opposition  to  an  es- 
tablished church.  Now  it  is  coming  more  from  the  force  of 
the  principles  for  which,  at  bottom,  churches  stand,  in  in- 
fluencing general  public  opinion. 

Once  it  received  large  expression  in  the  fine  arts,  brought 
to  the  service  of  ecclesiasticism.  The  pyramids,  the  Greek 
temple  no  less  than  the  Gothic  cathedral,  the  paintings  of  the 
masters  of  former  days,  in  Asia  as  well  as  Europe,  the  great 
music  of  the  past,  were  all  its  offspring.  To-day  these  arts 
turn  for  the  most  part  elsewhere  for  their  inspiration  and 
ideals. 

The  artist  is  tired  of  the  anthropomorphism  by  which  his 
predecessors  degraded  the  divine.  The  architect  is  planning, 
the  decorator  is  adorning,  museums,  libraries,  lecture  halls, 

^  Histoire  du  Pcuplc  d' Israel,  I.  xxviii. 
XXXIV  [  4  ] 


THE   POWER  OF  RELIGION 

statehouses,  more  than  churches.  The  composer  meets  every 
mood.  But  there  is  here,  too,  a  line  that  never  can  be  passed. 
A  school  of  art  may  be  non-religious.  It  cannot  be  irreligious, 
and  endure. 

Once  religion  led  to  alHances  of  nations  for  no  other  cause 
than  that  they  shared  the  same  form  of  it,  and  wished,  perhaps, 
to  secure  it  a  wider  spread.  Against  such  connections  the 
Peace  of  Westphalia,  with  its  rule  of  cujus  regio,  ejus  religion 
shut  one  door,  and  the  futile  outcome  of  the  Holy  Alliance 
closed  another.  In  international  affairs  the  distinction  between 
Christian  and  infidel  has  passed  away  as  fully  as  that  between 
Greek  and  barbarian;  but  that  which  is  vital  to  all  rehgions 
and  common  to  all  religions  is  but  the  more  clearly  seen  and 
strongly  felt. 

History  has  a  place  in  *'the  literature  of  power."  It  has  it 
only  by  right  of  the  human  motive  that  controls  events  and  the 
imagination  that  can  see  and  paint  it. 

There  was  a  half-truth  in  what  Sir  Edward  Burne- Jones 
once  said,  that  there  were  but  four  English  historians :  Shakes- 
peare, Scott,  Dickens,  and  Thackeray.  There  is  no  historian 
who  is  not  an  artist.  He  must  tell  his  story  in  a  large  way. 
He  is  concerned  with  what  is  in  essence  part  of  a  long  process. 
Facts,  as  Macaulay  puts  it,  are  the  dross  of  history.  Their 
relations  to  us  are  what  is  to  be  fined  out,  and  when  these  are 
found  in  religion  something  great  has  at  once  come  in  to  dignify 
the  work. 

Herbert  Spencer  has  said  that  in  the  fine  arts  "a  work  .  .  . 
which  is  full  of  small  contrasts  and  without  any  great  contrasts 
sins  against  the  fundamental  principles  of  beauty."  ^  The 
thought  may  be  extended  to  historical  literature.  There  must 
be  great  contrasts  to  make  any  particular  history  effective. 
But  more  than  this,  it  is  only  so  far  as  it  presents  great  con- 
trasts that  any  history,  be  it  particular  or  universal,  is  true. 
They  are  its  soul.  They  are  the  moving  cause  of  the  trivial 
events  and  common  course  of  things  which  conceal  them  from 
general  observation. 

1  Autobiography,  II.  408. 

XXXIV  [  5  ] 


THE   POWER  OF  RELIGION 

Such  contrasts,  in  those  states  of  society  with  which  the 
historian  has  to  deal,  enter  into  each  human  Hfe.  They  come 
from  those  two  things  which,  as  Kant  said,  fill  every  man  with 
a  certain  awe — the  starry  heavens  and  the  still,  small  voice 
of  his  own  conscience.  This  conscience  may  be  largely  a 
product  of  human  evolution.  It  means  little  or  nothing  to 
the  savage.  The  starry  heavens  mean  little  to  him.  But  he 
is  impressed  by  the  inborn  or  from  birth  intrained  conviction 
that  there  are  higher  and  unseen  powers,  one  or  many,  from 
whom  something  is  to  be  feared  or  gained.  Man  enters  or- 
ganized society  without  losing  this  conviction.  He  feels  him- 
self bound  to  something  higher  and  stronger.  The  bond  may 
easily  become  a  fetter,  but  on  the  whole  it  makes  life  larger 
and  less  selfish. 

What  is  natural  to  man  is  inherited  from  generation  to 
generation.  Whatever  he  has  acquired — be  it  of  thought  or 
knowledge — must  be  taught  over  again  by  each  generation  to 
the  next,  if  it  is  to  endure.  Religion  is  part  of  his  nature — a 
spiritual  possession  which  education  does  not  give,  except  in 
form,  and  seldom  takes  away. 

That  the  religion  of  every  race  has,  down  to  recent  times, 
gone  far  to  shape  its  history,  few  will  dispute.  Does  its  con- 
trolling influence  on  national  conditions  pass  away  before  a 
higher  civilization  and  a  wider  knowledge?  May  it  be  a  key 
to  the  life  of  a  tribe  of  savages,  but  only  as  an  incident  of  im- 
maturity and  ignorance?  Does  the  key  grow  rusty,  as  time 
goes  on?  Or  is  the  religious  motive  one  of  the  inherent,  uni- 
versal, and  eternal  forces  that  must,  in  all  ages,  deeply  affect, 
if  not  vitally  control,  the  doings  of  men,  as  massed  in  nations, 
in  matters  of  national  concern? 

Perhaps  the  answer  hangs  on  what  the  religious  motive  is. 
If  it  be  to  secure  some  personal  good,  whether  here  or  here- 
after, for  one's  self  or  one's  family,  it  will  be  inevitably  weakened 
by*  advances  in  civilization.  All  those  advances  are  toward 
altruism.  Altruism  proceeds  trom  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice, 
and  that  is  the  highest  spring  of  religion.  "Selfish  and  in- 
terested individuahsm,"  says  John  Morley,  "has  been  truly 
called  non-historic.  Sacrifice  has  been  the  law — sacrifice  for 
XXXIV  [  6  ] 


THE   POWER  OF  RELIGION 

creeds,  for  churches,  for  dynasties,  for  kings,  for  adored  teachers, 
for  native  land."^ 

It  is  this  spirit  which  gives  all  its  nobility  to  the  story  of 
our  race.  As  it  brought  all  Christendom  together  in  the 
Crusades,  so  it  brought  the  civilized  world  together  in  the 
Conference  of  Peace  at  The  Hague  in  1899.  In  each  of  these 
great  movements  it  was  distinctly  associated  with  religion — 
blindly  in  the  one,  truly  in  the  other.  That  the  ancient  dis- 
tinction between  Christian  and  infidel  found  no  place  in  the 
rescript  of  the  Czar,  which  led  to  the  Hague  Conference,  was 
of  itself  some  proof  of  its  essentially  religious  motive.^ 

Thus  far  in  the  history  of  the  earth,  the  mass  of  mankind 
have  ever  sought  to  regulate  their  conduct  by  their  desires. 
Civilization  has  somewhat  modified  their  desires.  It  has 
given  them  new  forms,  inspired  them  by  new  influences,  turned 

^"Democracy  and  Keaction,'.' Nineteenth  Century,  April,  1905 
(vol.  57,  p.  547). 

^At  a  critical  moment  in  the  proceedings  of  the  Hague  Conference 
of  1899,  there  came  into  the  hands  of  the  president  of  the  American 
delegation  a  letter  sent  out  by  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Bishop  of 
Texas  to  the  clergy  of  his  diocese  with  a  form  of  prayer  to  be  used 
in  all  the  churches,  asking  the  blessing  of  God  on  the  work  of  the 
Conference  in  the  interests  of  peace.  The  Emperor  of  Germany  had 
instructed  his  representatives  to  oppose  the  institution  of  any  court 
of  arbitration.  Mr.  White  was  at  the  time  preparing  a  despatch 
to  the  German  Prime  Minister  urging  him  to  use  his  influence  to 
secure  a  reconsideration  of  the  question.  He  referred  to  the  letter 
of  the  Bishop  as  an  important  utterance  of  a  widely  prevailing  Chris- 
tian sentiment,  which  could  not  be  disregarded,  and  also  handed  it 
to  the  bearer  of  the  despatch,  his  associate,  the  late  Dr.  Holls,  to  use 
as  he  might  think  best.  Dr.  Holls  showed  it  to  the  Chancellor,  Prince 
Hohenlohe,  who — a  strong  religionist — was  evidently  affected  by  it. 
Not  long  afterward,  the  German  delegation  took  a  position  favor- 
able to  the  treaty  of  arbitration,  and  Mr.  White  refers  to  the  incident 
as  "perhaps  an  interesting  example  of  an  indirect  'answer  to  prayer.' " 
Autobiography  of  Andrew  D.  White,  II.  311,  322. 

We  have  his  authority  also  for  the  statement  that  religion  in 
a  curious  way  dictated  the  original  call  for  the  Hague  Conference. 
The  Czar  acted  in  the  matter  on  the  advice  of  Pobedonostseff .  Pobe- 
donostseif  desired  a  reduction  of  armaments  as  the  only  means  which 
he  could  see  to  give  Russia  the  means  to  increase  her  grants  for  the 
benefit  of  the  state  church.     Ibid.,  269-270. 

XXXIV  '  [  7  ] 


THE   POWER   OF   RELIGION 

them  in  new  directions,  subjected  them  to  certain  conventions; 
but  individual  desires  are  still  what  press  forward  as  the  natural 
motive  forces  in  and  of  organized  society. 

Nevertheless,  they  have  seldom  for  any  long  period  ruled 
the  course  of  society.  There  has  been  a  minority  of  the  people, 
actuated  by  counterforces  of  an  intensive  character  and  power, 
sufficient  to  make  it  stronger  than  the  majority  in  so  far  as  to 
beat  down  mere  desire  and  replace  it  by  some  theory  which 
all  recognize  as  more  noble  and  worthy.  Philosophers  have 
led  one  wing  of  this  minority;  religionists  the  other.  And 
which  has  proved  the  stronger  force,  religion  or  philosophy? 
Which  appeals  to  the  most  minds?  Which  appeals  to  the 
most  hearts?  To  the  heart,  religion  alone.  The  morals,  the 
ideals  of  the  philosopher,  are  powerless  with  the  multitude 
unless  touched  by  the  fire  of  emotion  and  quickened  by  that 
faith  in  the  unseen  which  turns  human  things  into  divine  things. 

The  philosophic  thought  of  Eastern  literature  is  also 
religious.  The  effect  of  this  literature  on  the  Western  mind 
has  become,  during  the  last  half-century,  quite  considerable. 
It  has  reinforced  the  Emersonian  school  and  given  new  rec- 
ognition to  reverence  for  the  mysterious  in  the  order  of  the 
universe. 

Religion,  being  man's  conception  of  what  is  fit  for  a  super- 
human or  divine  order  of  things,  must  vary  in  form  to  cor- 
respond wdth  differences  in  human  insight  and  knowledge. 
Following  the  general  law  for  all  that  lives,  formulated  by 
Spencer  and  Darwin,  it  everywhere  proceeds  in  its  manifesta- 
tions from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous,  and  must 
continue  in  this  course.  It  is  not  that  the  ultimate  object  of 
search  changes.  The  attitudes  and  capacities  of  the  observers 
change.  If  any  particular  religion  ever  overspreads  the  earth 
and  gains  universal  acceptance,  it  will  gain  it  everywhere  by 
taking  its  color,  like  the  chameleon,  from  the  soil,  or  perhaps, 
as  to-day  with  the  Christian  religion,  assuming  many  colors 
on  the  same  soil.  Only  the  motive  and  the  general  moral 
product  will  be  cosmic. 

Men  owe  to  their  mothers  their  first  introduction  to  the 
XXXIV  [  8  ] 


THE  POWER   OF  RELIGION 

world  of  the  mind  and  the  spirit.  Women  are,  by  their  inherent 
nature,  rehgious  beings.  Equality  of  civil  rights  before  the 
law  will  never  disturb  the  poise  of  that  nature.  It  is  never 
satisfied  to  be  ensphered  within  itself.  It  seeks  to  ally  itself 
with  something  stronger.  It  responds  readily  to  the  mysterious. 
In  a  sense  it  is  true  that  the  life  of  every  man  turns  on  what  is 
to  be  his  relation  to  some  woman.  In  a  much  deeper  sense  is 
it  true  that  the  life  of  every  woman  turns  on  what  is  to  be  her 
relation  to  some  man.  If  happiness  of  home  be  denied  to  a 
man,  he  may  find,  or  fancy  that  he  finds,  the  void  filled  in  the 
busy  world.  If  it  be  denied  to  a  woman,  she  cannot.  She 
feels  the  void  too  deep  to  fill,  unless  it  be  by  a  peace  that  the 
world  can  neither  give  nor  take  away.  And  if  happiness  of 
home  be  given  to  a  woman,  she  is  more  apt  than  man  to  think 
it  but  a  gift  from  some  higher  power. 

These  sentiments  that  from  childhood  imbue  half  the  human 
race,  that  half  instils  in  childhood  into  the  whole.  The  first 
knowledge  that  comes  to  the  babe  in  arms  is  that  there  is  a 
protecting  and  supporting  power,  from  which  he  receives 
everything,  and  to  which  he  renders  nothing  but  confidence  and 
love.  He  grows  into  a  child.  Other  forms  rise  up  around 
him  with  which  he  finds  himself  in  close  relation.  Motives 
of  conduct  are  put  before  him;  duty  to  parents  among  the 
first.  There  are  few  to  whom  a  mother's  voice  does  not  sug- 
gest a  reason  for  this  duty  in  a  divine  command.  The  very 
oaths  the  boy  v/ill  hear  uttered  upon  the  street  will  bear  the 
same  message  in  a  different  dress. 

A  race,  as  Renan  said,  lives  forever  on  its  recollections  of 
childhood.  Impressions  of  religion  then  gained  are  never 
absolutely  effaced.  Like  the  secret  despatch  written  in  lemon 
juice,  they  reappear  at  the  touch  of  fire— in  moments  of 
deep  feeling  and  supreme  effort.  It  is  by  what  is  done  at 
such  moments  that  battles  are  won,  parhamentary  majorities 
change,  dynasties  fall. 

The  most  uncompromising  materiahst  is  seldom  without 

his  obligations  to  early  impressions  for  his  contentment  with  his 

surroundings.     There  will  be  still,  though  he  be  not  conscious 

of  it,  some  lingering  subjection  to  their  power.     As  Dr.  Barry 

XXXIV  [  9  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

in  his  sketch  of  Rcnan  has  said,  ''the  sceptic  lives  on  a  capital 
stored  up  during  the  days  when  he  beheved.  He  is  a  philoso- 
pher on  half -pay." 

ReHgion  is  a  large  word.  Matthew  Arnold's  epigram 
expresses  but  a  half-truth.  Religion  is  morality — the  morahty 
of  the  time  and  of  the  race — touched  with  emotion — the  emotion 
of  the  human  heart.  But  as  emotion  is  not  self-contained, 
neither  is  it  self -produced.  It  is  a  feeling  of  one  toward  another 
or  with  another,  or  else  it  is  a  feeling  inspired  by  a  memory 
of  another  or  a  conception  of  the  ideal.  The  one  is  the  more 
passionate :  the  other  is  the  more  profound.  Either  is  a  strong 
spring  of  action.  But  one  is  of  the  earth:  the  other  transcends 
the  earth.  Each  has  often  turned  the  course  of  history.  It  has 
been  suddenly  and  sharply  turned  by  emotions  that  belong  to 
the  present,  that  awoke  or  were  awakened  by  like  emotion  in 
another.  It  has  seldom  been  permanently  turned  or  per- 
manently guided  by  these.  That  is  the  work  of  the  emotions 
fed  by  the  unseen;  emotions  for  which  we  owe  nothing  to  our 
senses,  nothing  to  ourselves.  For  if  man  is  the  measure  of  the 
universe,  it  is  only  because  he  sees  that  it  is  immeasurable,  and 
feels  that  there  is  something  immeasurable  within  himself 
which  is  a  part  of  the  immeasurable  beyond  himself.  This 
feeling,  this  emotion  of  the  heart,  passing  into  a  conviction 
of  the  mind,  is  the  quickening  spirit  that  makes  our  customs 
or  morals  flower  into  religion. 

Theologians,  speaking  for  their  realm  of  science,  call  it, 
as  it  appears  there,  faith — or  perhaps  faith  in  those  who  pro- 
fess the  doctrines  to  which  they  adhere;  superstition,  in  other 
men.  Historians,  as  it  appears  in  their  realm  of  science,  all 
see  it  in  loyalty  to  national  ideals,  reverence  for  national  in- 
stitutions, veneration  for  the  heroes  of  the  past.  AU  of  them, 
I  think  it  may  be  fairly  said,  have  not  been  as  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge its  rightful  power  over  a  people  when  it  turns  their 
thoughts  toward  that  transcendent  energy  which  those  call 
divine  who  feel  that  it  brings  them  into  a  personal  relation  with 
the  unseen  and  the  unknowable. 

It  may  take  the  shape  of  pure  theism.     It  may  find  divinity 
shining  through  a  human  form.     It  may  find  it  in  every  man. 
XXXIV  [  lo  ] 


THE   POWER  OF  RELIGION 

The  modern  world,  so  far  as  the  leaders  of  its  thought  can 
speak  for  it,  is  less  confident  than  the  v/orld  of  a  thousand  or 
ten  thousand  years  ago  that  there  exists  a  being  detached  from 
all  else  so  like  ourselves  that  we  can  name  it  like  one  of  us, 
a  person,  and  presume  to  define  its  attributes  in  terms  of  human 
speech.  It  is  more  confident  that  there  is  a  power  in  the  uni- 
verse that  so  controls  or  constitutes  it  in  a  settled  order  of  re- 
lations and  causation  that  all  may  safely  trust  in  the  continuance 
of  that  order  without  a  break.  It  is  more  confident  also  that 
it  is  a  power  that,  in  the  sum  of  things,  makes  for  what  is  good 
as  well  as  true  and  is  worthy  the  highest  name  we  can  invent 
for  it — the  name  of  God. 

If  there  be  anything  in  the  theory  of  the  monist;  if  there 
be  but  one  actuality  in  the  universe,  and  that  motion,  or  a  force 
expressed  in  motion,  the  manner  of  that  motion  is,  or  seems  to 
us,  ruled  by  attraction.  Attraction  draws  little  things  to  great 
things :  earths  to  suns ;  men — for  their  bodies — to  the  earth ;  but 
for  their  thinking  selves  it  is  still  the  dominating  faith  that 
these  are  in  like  manner,  if  insensibly,  yet  surely,  drawn  toward 
a  greater  thinking  self,  as  source  and  end. 

Ruskin  said  of  Sainte-Beuve  that  he  never  for  a  moment 
admitted  to  himself  the  possibility  of  a  True  as  well  as  an  Ideal 
Spirit,  or  God/  It  is  precisely  this  which  threw  Sainte-Beuve 
out  of  touch  with  the  people  about  him,  and  shut  him  out  of 
the  pubHc  heart.  Spencer  built  on  better  foundations.  His 
own  conceptions  might  differ  widely  from  those  of  English 
people*  He  might  declare  that  ''that  which  persists,  unchang- 
ing in  quantity  but  ever  changing  in  form,  under  these  sensible 
appearances  which  the  Universe  presents  to  us,  transcends 
human  knowledge  and  conception — is  an  unknown  and  unknow- 
able Power,  which  we  are  obHged  to  recognize  as  without  limit 
in  space  and  without  beginning  or  end  in  time."^  But  if  un- 
knowable to  him,  this  Power  was  not  one  with  which  he 
would  lightly  reckon  as  respects  its  influence  on  others.  As 
Frederic  Harrison  said— and  said  rightfully— Spencer  "looked 
to  the  unknowable  environment  behind  the  world  of   sense 

^  Letters  to  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  II.  13.       ^  Autobiography,  I.  652. 

XXXIV  [11] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

and  knowledge  as  the  sphere  and  object  of  religion."  To 
the  positivist,  the  unknowable  environment  is  no  less  an  ad- 
mitted fact,  but — to  use  Harrison's  language  again — "the  only 
intelligible  sphere  of  rehgion  must  be  the  knowable,"  and  ''the 
elements  of  the  unknowable  are  immutably  set  in  the  canons  of 
experience." 

The  church  of  the  world  stands  nearer  to  Spencer.  It  dis- 
dains the  dogma  that  the  knowable  is  immutably  measured 
by  any  form  of  human  experience.  The  world  in  general 
rejects  it.  It  is  unscientific.  Who  would  have  said,  a  cen- 
tury ago,  that  the  voice  of  a  friend  speaking  in  Denver  could 
be  heard  in  New  York,  and  recognized  in  every  intonation 
as  easily  as  if  he  were  in  the  same  room  with  him  who  is  ad- 
dressed? Who  would  have  said,  twenty  years  ago,  that  a  ray 
of  light  could  be  so  framed  and  directed  as  to  light  up  the 
interior  of  the  human  body  and  show  the  skeleton  within 
it  ?  Who  would  have  said,  ten  years  ago,  that  there  was  a  heat- 
producing  mineral  that  never  cooled?  What  canons  of  scien- 
tific experience  brought  within  the  range  of  probable  assump- 
tion marvels  like  these?  Surely  it  is  but  reasonable  to  expect 
that  the  common  people  will  look  at  each  new  discovery  of  such 
a  kind  as  fresh  proof  of  an  intelligent  creator,  and  another 
step  nearer  to  knowledge  of  what  He  is. 

The  full  power  of  such  a  belief  is  seldom  felt  by  those  who 
are  themselves  unafi^ected  by  it.  For  this  cause,  if  for  no 
other,  the  historian  whose  judgments  will  be  accepted  by 
future  generations  must  write  in  a  religious  spirit.  He  cannot 
use  a  key  too  large  for  him  to  grasp.  I  mean  here  by  religion 
a  reverent  consciousness  of  a  power  (be  it  law  or  spirit)  mani- 
fest in  nature,  which  is  stronger  than  man,  and  a  sense  of 
obligation  to  answer  its  demands.  .  Its  common  fruits,  ripened 
by  human  association,  have  through  all  historic  times  been 
what  in  those  times  passed  for  collective  virtue  and  self-sacrifice. 
The  historian  must  respect  these  qualities.  He  must  share  in 
them,  so  far  at  least  as  to  recognize  them  in  others,  and  recognize 
their  controlHng  force. 

George  Sand  makes  her  Marquis  de  Villemer  declare  that 
"Jamais   une    conscience   troublee,   jamais   un    esprit   fausse 

XXXIV  [  12  ] 


THE  POWER  OF  RELIGION 

n'entendront  rhistoire."  It  will  be  always  inclining  to  search 
out  or  invent  some  unworthy  motive,  some  low  design,  in  the 
greatest  acts.  It  cannot  comprehend  that  in  which  it  has  no 
part.  Nor  can  the  man  whose  conscience  is  untroubled  and 
spirit  true,  but  to  whom  himself  the  religious  motive  is  a  stranger, 
appreciate  what  may  be  its  mastery  of  others.  Particularly 
is  this  true  where  behind  the  religious  motive  is  the  conviction 
of  the  personality  of  God.  He  to  whom  the  divine  stands  as 
a  being  detached  from  all  beside,  will  go  farther  and  dare  more 
for  the  love  of  God  or  fear  of  God  than  the  man  to  whom  the 
divine  transcends  all  personality  and  permeates  whatever 
the  universe  contains.  The  very  conception  of  such  an  im- 
manence of  God  in  the  world  is  at  once  too  vast  and  too  subtle 
for  the  ordinary  mind.  It  diffuses  a  power  which  the  other 
conception  concentrates.     It  turns  a  guide  into  a  theory. 

If  mankind  is  always  craving  heroes  to  worship,  much 
more  it  craves  a  King  of  Kings,  eternal  in  the  heavens.  The 
thought  of  unity  in  nature — of  a  single  purpose  or  power  to 
which  all  that  we  see  or  know  or  feel  is  related — is  common  to 
most  of  the  great  religions.  It  is  also  a  vital  part  of  them. 
To  those  who  are  possessed  by  it,  it  seems  a  clew  by  which  to 
trace  back  every  event  of  history  to  its  farthest  source.  It  is 
distinctly  a  religious  clew. 

It  naturally  associates  itself  with  the  thought  of  unity  in 
human  authority. 

To  the  Mahometan,  religion  is  still  the  centralizing  force 
in  government  that  it  was  for  a  thousand  years  to  the  Christian 
world.  Mediaeval  Europe  could  conceive  only  of  one  spiritual 
head  and  of  one  imperial  head  on  earth.  It  was  this  sentiment 
that  kept  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  in  Hfe  centuries  after,  as 
Voltaire  declared,  it  was  no  longer  Holy,  nor  Roman,  nor  an 
Empire. 

Convince  the  mass  of  any  people  that  a  change  of  custom 
or  of  law  or  no  change  of  custom  or  law,  that  a  war  or  no  war, 
the  maintenance  of  an  ancient  policy  or  the  substitution  of 
another,  the  support  of  an  existing  government  or  its  over- 
throw, is  demanded  by  duty  to  God,  and  you  have  a  motive 
of  action  that  is  Hkely  to  prove  irresistible.  It  is  a  motive  easy 
XXXIV  [  13  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

to  apprehend,  and  there  are  always  those  who  are  ready  to 
suggest  it.  Not  only  are  they  ready,  but  they  have  a  vantage 
ground  which  gives  to  what  they  say  pecuUar  weight.  It  is  that 
of  the  church. 

Between  man  and  religion  stands  everywhere  something  in 
the  nature  of  ecclesiastical  authority,  either  self- asserted  or 
governmentally  affirmed.  The  formalism  in  religion  which 
naturally  results  from  an  established  church  makes  for  con- 
servatism in  politics.  In  proportion  to  the  hold  which  such 
a  church  has  on  the  community  it  saps  the  springs  of  popular 
enthusiasm  and  makes  against  business  activity.  Time  which 
would  otherwise  be  spent  in  labor  is  consumed  in  feast-days  or 
fast-days.  Leisure  is  gained,  but  at  high  cost  and  under  cir- 
cumstances unfriendly  to  its  best  use.  In  pubhc  educational 
institutions  studies  of  more  importance  are  apt  to  be  put  aside 
for  instruction  in  the  symbols  and  Hturgies  of  the  church. 

The  same  tendencies  proceed  in  all  countries  from  churches 
to  which  a  large  majority  of  the  people  belong,  though  not 
established  by  law,  if  they  are  ceremonial  in  their  institutions. 
This  cause  has  colored  the  hfe  of  the  people  and  vitally  af- 
fected the  course  of  industry  in  Spanish  America  ^  and  British 
India. 

There  are  twenty  American  repubhcs.  Two  of  them,  Cuba 
and  San  Domingo,  are  bound  to  us  by  pohtical  ties  of  a  peculiar 
character.  The  rest  shun  us.  We  want  their  trade,  but  it 
goes  to  Europe.  We  want  their  sympathy,  but  what  we  re- 
ceive is  rather  apprehension  and  suspicion.  We  meet  them  in 
Pan-American  Congresses,  but  while  projects  are  framed 
few  are  consummated.  Why  is  it  that,  with  their  pohtical 
institutions  so  largely  copied  from  us,  they  are  foreign  to  us 
in  spirit?  Race  and  language,  I  JDclicve,  have  been  less  the 
cause  than  religion.  Religion  counts  more  with  them  in 
influencing  habits  of  thought  and  measures  of  social  order. 
The  church,  as  such,  is  a  greater  power. 

In  South  America  and  Central  America  the  church  was 

'  A  striking,  and  Hot  inaccurate,  forecast  of  its  probable  history 
was  made  in  a  letter  from  Jefferson  to  Lafayette,  of  May  14,  181 7. 
Writings  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  Memorial  edition,  XV.  116. 
XXXIV  [  14  ] 


THE   POWER  OF  RELIGION 

so  long  the  only  fountain  of  education  that  public  sentiment 
deemed  it  a  sufficient  source.  There  are  countries  in  which  the 
state  has  assumed  this  function,  where  churches  have  been 
found  to  promote  its  efforts  for  their  own  sake.  In  Finland, 
for  instance,  in  the  Lutheran  denomination,  which  there  pre- 
vails, confirmation  is  refused  to  those  who  cannot  read,  and 
the  consequence  is  that  illiteracy  is  rare.  So  in  a  conquered 
country,  if  an  established  church  survives,  it  may  prove  a  nur- 
sery of  patriotism.  Modern  Greece  as  an  independent  king- 
dom owes  its  existence  to  the  Greek  Church.  This  kept  alive 
the  national  f  eehng  and  tongue  during  the  long  years  of  Turkish 
occupation.^ 

The  church  appeals  to  what  is  poetic  in  our  nature,  and  as 
our  associate  President ^  Woodrow  Wilson  has  finely  said:  ''We 
live  by  Poetry;  and  not  by  Prose." 

But  the  only  true  estabhshment  of  a  church  is  in  the  hearts 
of  those  who  belong  to  it.  If  they  have  faith  in  its  principles, 
these  will  have  a  large  influence  in  guiding  their  action  as 
citizens  in  public  affairs.  Fear  of  its  discipline,  be  it  established 
or  unestablished,  will  not. 

The  attitude  of  every  important  church  toward  socialism  is 
antagonistic.  If  it  become  official  antagonism,  it  loses  power. 
Why  is  socialism  steadily  growing  in  political  weight  through- 
out Europe  ?  Why  in  France  did  its  friends  cast  nearly  half 
a  million  more  votes  at  the  elections  of  this  year  than  in  any 
previous  one  ?  It  is  a  sign  of  the  decadence  there  of  the  power 
of  the  Vatican,  pushed  unwisely  to  the  front  in  its  encycUcals.  It 
was  a  natural  incident  of  the  struggle  which  was  separating 
church  and  state.  As  Professor  Blondel  has  said  of  it:  "Le 
peuple  franfais  est  sans  doute  moins  irreligicux  qu'on  ne  le 
pretend  quelquef  ois,  mais  il  est  tres  defiant  a  I'egard  de  tout  ce 
qui  lui  apparait  comme  une  ingerence  clericale,  et  n'accorde 
pas  volontiers  sa  confiance  a  ceux  qu'il  soupgonne  de  sympathie 
a  regard  du  'gouvernement  des  cures.'  "^ 

*  Autobiography  of  Andrew  D.  White,  II.  439. 
2  Associate  President  of  the  American  Historical  Association. 
^  Blatter  fur  vergleichende  Rechtswissenschaft  und  V olkswirtschafts- 
lehre,  July,  1906,  p.  178. 

XXXIV  [  15  ] 


THE   POWER   OF   RELIGION 

The  jealousy  of  clerical  government  on  the  part  of  the 
French  people,  however,  is  largely  because  they  have  learned 
to  look  on  it  as  a  government  inspired  from  Rome,  subject  to 
Rome. 

One  of  last  year's  books  bears  the  title  "Les  Deux  Frances." 
They  are  the  France  of  the  Blacks  and  the  France  of  the  Reds; 
of  the  party  of  King  and  Church,  and  that  of  Revolution.  A 
party  standing  for  old  institutions  cannot  easily  be  displaced 
by  a  party  standing  for  new  institutions,  unless  these  rise  up 
as  the  outcome  and  expression  of  a  spirit  of  individualism, 
native  to  the  soil.  If  each  party  rests  for  its  support  on  corpo- 
rate influences,  the  struggle  will  be  long  and  doubtful.  There 
are  still  therefore  les  deux  Frances,  ever  in  conflict.  The  King 
— the  thought  of  a  restored  monarchy — has  almost  disappeared 
as  a  constitutive  force.  But  so  has  the  Revolution.  To  that 
the  corporate  influences  of  the  Republic  have  succeeded,  and 
to-day  it  is  the  France  of  the  Church  contending  with  the  France 
of  the  Republic.  If  the  church  should  learn  to  encourage  the 
individual  initiative  of  its  followers — to  let  Frenchmen  direct 
the  course  in  France  of  the  Roman  Church — the  France  of  the 
Blacks  may  yet  prevail. 

The  history  of  any  people  will  be  largely  governed  by  its 
means  of  education.  How  far  shall  it  extend?  By  whom 
shall  it  be  furnished  and  controlled?  ''Educate  your  masters" 
is  the  command  of  political  philosophy  to  the  modern  state. 
No  education  can  be  deemed  complete  which  does  not  treat 
to  some  extent  of  religion.  Yet  if  it  be  given  at  public  expense, 
the  cost  will  be  borne  by  some  who  scout  at  all  religion,  and 
many  who  disagree  with  the  prevaiHng  forms  of  it. 

The  position  which  the  world  is  gradually  taking  on  this 
subject  rests  on  principles  foreshadowed  in  colonial  Maryland 
and  Rhode  Island;  first  formally  asserted  by  any  government 
on  purely  Humanitarian  grounds  in  1786  by  Jefferson's  statute  of 
religious  Hberty  in  Virginia,  and  spread  over  a  wider  field  by 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 

The  utmost  point  that  had  been  previously  reached  was 
that  religious  liberty  should  be  as  great  as  the  safety  of  the 
XXXIV  [  16  ] 


THE   POWER  OF  RELIGION 

state  permitted.  Now  it  was  declared  that  no  limitations  were 
required  by  the  safety  of  the  state.  Yet  here  more  than  almost 
anywhere  else  is  seen  the  difficulty  of  reconcihng  it  with  religious 
sentiment. 

The  King  of  Bavaria,  in  a  state  paper  early  in  the  last  cen- 
tury, declared  that  in  pubhc  education  reHgion  was  not  to 
be  taught  at  the  cost  of  learning,  nor  yet  learning  at  the  cost  of 
religion.  There  are  still  many,  however,  who  believe  it  to  be 
to  the  cost  of  learning  for  the  state  to  assume  to  teach  that, 
without  making  religion  a  part  of  it. 

More  than  a  million  children  are  being  educated  in  the 
United  States  every  year  in  the  various  schools  of  the  Roman 
Cathohc  Church.  The  cost  of  this  can  hardly  be  less  than 
twenty-five  or  thirty  million  dollars.  Those  who  pay  it  arc 
also  required  by  the  state  to  contribute  as  much  as  any  other 
taxpaying  citizens  to  the  support  of  the  pubHc  schools.  It  is 
no  small  force  which  leads  these  men  to  assume  such  burdens. 
It  is  the  conviction  that  education  is  incomplete  unless  religion 
be  taught  as  part  of  it,  added  to  the  belief  that  the  best  form  of 
religion,  or  we  might  say  perhaps  the  only  form  of  true  religion, 
is  that  of  which  their  own  church  is  the  expression. 

Holland  has  profited  by  our  experience,  and  since  1857 
has  forbidden  religious  instruction  in  her  public  schools.  The 
Catholics  were  not  content  to  have  it  given  by  Calvinists,  nor 
Calvinists  to  let  it  come  from  Catholics.  Similar  considerations, 
fortified  by  an  influence  substantially  unfelt  in  Holland,  that 
of  socialism,  have  now  thoroughly  secularized  education  in 
France,  but  only  after  the  most  bitter  contests.  In  both  English 
and  Canadian  politics  the  same  question  is  now  the  dominating 
one. 

The  position  of  Russia  in  this  respect  has  been  one  of 
the  circumstances  weakening  her  as  a  great  power  as  well 
as  leading  directly  to  revolutionary  change.  The  church  has 
had  the  full  direction  of  the  public  schools.  For  the  first  three 
years  it  kept  the  children  simply  learning  prayers  by  Jote, 
except  for  a  little  drill  toward  the  close  in  mental  arithmetic. 
No  instruction  in  reading  was  required.  The  product  of  such 
a  system  is  not  simply  popular  unintelligence.  It  is  an  unreal 
XXXIV  [17] 


THE   POWER   OF   RELIGION 

quietude,  easily  passing  into  a  blind  fury,  under  the  influences 
of  a  century  like  ours. 


Religious  tests  for  ordinary  offices  have  been  largely 
abolished,  even  in  monarchical  governments,  but  whenever 
in  these  there  is  a  state  church  the  monarch,  as  its  head,  re- 
mains bound  to  it  by  vows  so  solemn  as  to  prove  the  conviction 
of  the  people  that  nothing  can  safely  be  yielded  there.  The 
coronation  oath  of  King  Edward  stood  for  the  same  dogmatic 
rigidity  in  its  reference  to  the  papacy  as  did  that  of  an  opposite 
kind  imposed  on  his  niece,  the  Princess  Ena,  before  she  could  be 
Queen  of  Spain.^ 

There  is  no  civilized  nation  in  recent  years  where  the  state 
supports  the  church  in  which  there  has  not  been  so  much 
dissatisfaction  with  that  poHcy  as  to  inspire  public  opposition. 
In  many,  the  opposition  has  already  triumphed :  in  all,  it  will. 
The  disestablishment  of  the  church  in  Ireland,  in  the  face  of 
the  solemn  provision  to  the  contrary  in  the  Act  of  Union,  will 
some  day  be  followed  by  the  disestablishment  of  the  Church 
of  England,  whose  numbers  have  recently  sunk  to  a  minority  of 
the  EngHsh  people.  In  France,  the  separation  of  the  state 
from  the  churches,  first  in  regard  to  education,  and  then  at 
all  points,  has  been  the  great  political  issue  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  The  French  Revolution  could  not  accompHsh  it. 
Though  in  the  Constitution  of  1791  it  was  asserted  that  all  the 
property  of  the  church  belonged  to  the  nation,  and  the  Con- 


^This  was:  "I,  recognizing  as  true  the  Catholic  and  apostolic 
faith,  do  hereby  publicly  anathematize  every  heresy,  especially  that 
to  which  I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  belong.  I  agree  with  the  Holy 
Roman  Church,  and  profess  with  mouth  and  heart  my  belief  in  the 
Apostohc  See,  and  my  adhesion  to  that  faith  which  the  Holy  Roman 
Churcji,  by  evangelical  and  apostolical  authority,  delivers  to  be  held. 
Swearing  this  by  the  sacred  Homoousion,  or  trinity  of  the  same  sub- 
stance, and  by  the  holy  gospels  of  Christ,  I  do  pronounce  those  worthy 
of  eternal  anathema  who  oppose  this  faith  with  their  dogmas  and  their 
followers,  and  should  I  myself  at  any  time  presume  to  approve  or 
proclaim  anything  contrary  hereto,  I  will  subject  myself  to  the  severity 
of  the  canon  law.  So  help  me  God,  and  these  his  holy  gospels." 
XXXIV  [  18  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

cordat  ten  years  later  confirmed  it,  it  was  only  in  this  present 
year  that  France  ventured  seriously  to  stand  upon  her  title. 

A  church  to  which  the  mass  of  any  people  belongs  will  exert 
a  stronger  influence  on  them  than  on  their  leaders  in  civil  af- 
fairs. These  leaders  will  be  better  fitted  to  exercise  an  inde- 
pendent judgment.  They  will  be  more  moved  by  motives 
of  personal  ambition.  Religion  will  not  be  to  them  the  one 
thing  to  elevate  their  thoughts  beyond  the  narrow  round  of 
domestic  life. 

But  of  those  who  direct  affairs  in  any  nation  in  which  govern- 
ment formally  avows  and  teaches  in  its  schools  the  existence  of 
a  higher  spiritual  power  few  will  escape  the  conviction  that  in 
this  at  least  there  is  truth.  A  behef  in  God  leads  to  a  trust  in  God 
in  great  emergencies,  and  to  an  inspiring  identification  of  God 
and  country.  In  war,  this  motive  is  as  strong  to-day  as  it 
was  a  thousand  years  ago.  The  ''  Cambridge  Modern  History," 
after  giving  one  volume  to  the  Reformation,  devotes  another  to 
what  it  styles  the  Wars  of  Religion.  The  Wars  of  ReHgion 
did  not  end  in  the  seventeenth  century,  nor  in  the  nineteenth. 
France  is  still  sore  from  her  losses  by  the  last. 

The  influences  of  an  ecclesiastical  estabhshment  and  of  the 
simple  religious  motive  were  curiously  intertwined  in  what  led 
to  the  fall  of  Napoleon  III.  The  relations  of  Germany  to  the 
papacy  had  an  important  influence  in  bringing  on  first  the  war 
between  Austria  and  Prussia  in  1866  and  then  that  between 
France  and  Prussia  in  1870,  both  fomented  from  Rome,  as 
events  likely  to  prove  a  check  to  the  Protestant  interest  in 
Europe.^  The  proclamation  of  the  German  Empire  at  Ver- 
sailles was  the  unexpected  fruit — unexpected  but  not  unnatural. 
The  German  fought  for  God  and  fatherland.  The  French  were 
permeated  by  the  godless  philosophy  of  the  first  repubhc. 

The  German  is  taught  religion  in  the  school.  He  is  re- 
minded of  it  from  the  throne.  The  Emperor  William,  as  fully 
as  the  Czar,  seizes  every  opportunity  to  claim  a  divine  sanction 

*  See  Autobiography  of  Andrew  D.  White,  II.  350. 
XXXIV  [  19  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

for  his  authority.*  He  has  thrust  France  aside  as  the  universal 
protector  of  CathoHc  missions  in  the  East,  and  found  his  profit 
in  it  by  large  territorial  acquisitions  in  China,  seized  in  retaha- 
tion  for  outrages  on  German  missionaries.  He  has  made  his 
pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem. 

France,  too,  of  late,  in  the  same  way,  has  so  shaped  her 
Chinese  policy  that  the  flag  has  followed  the  missionary.  The 
repubHc  has  clung  to  the  ecclesiastical  prerogatives  of  the 
monarchy,  though  with  the  abrogation  of  the  Concordat  it  is 
difficult  to  see  how  its  protectorate  over  Eastern  missions  can 
hereafter  be  asserted. 

A  religious  motive  in  foreign  affairs  can  only  be  seriously  ad- 
vanced when  a  religious  motive  is  recognized  in  home  affairs. 
The  loss  of  that  in  the  French  Revolution  was  one  of  the  first 
things  of  the  consequence  of  which,  after  the  restoration,  Talley- 
rand warned  Louis  XVIII.  when  consulting  with  him  over  the 
best  assurances  with  which  to  surround  his  throne.  You  have, 
said  he,  to  deal  with  a  people  ''accustomed  to  found  their 
rights  on  their  pretensions,  and  their  pretensions  on  their 
power."  "  Formerly,  rcHgious  influence  could  support  royal  au- 
thority; it  can  do  so  no  longer,  now  that  rehgious  indifference 
has  pervaded  all  classes,  and  become  almost  universal."  "  Roy- 
al authority  can  therefore  only  derive  support  from  public 
opinion;  and  to  obtain  this  it  must  be  in  accord  with  that 
opinion."  ^ 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  religious  indifference  was  so 
widespread  in  the  France  of  1815,  when  this  was  written.  If 
so,  it  was  because  of  a  torrent  of  revolution  which  for  the  time 
had  swept  before  it  the  good  and  the  bad  ahke.  That  torrent 
has  left  to  pubHc  opinion  a  lasting  place  of  power  over  human 
governments,  but  it  has  also,  I  beheve,  left  religion  in  its  old 
place  as  the  main  foundation  of  public  opinion. 

Early  in  1905  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  in  a  pubHc  address,^ 

*  See  particularly  his  speech  at  Coblentz,  August  31,  1897,  quoted 
in  Reinsch,  World  Politics,  p.  301. 

^Memoirs  of  Talleyrand,  Putnam's  edition,  III.  130,  147. 

*On  March  9,  1905,  in  an  address  before  the  naval  recruits  at 
Wilhelmsha  ven . 

XXXIV  [  20  ] 


THE  POWER  OF  RELIGION 

declared  that  the  defeats  of  Russia  in  her  war  with  Japan  were 
due  to  the  deplorable  condition  of  Russian  Christianity.  It 
was  deplorable  because  directed  by  a  state  church  which  failed 
to  respond  to  the  spirit  of  the  times.  None  of  its  members 
could  abandon  it  for  another  without  forfeiting  all  civil  rights, 
including  that  of  holding  property.  Its  principal  functionary, 
M.  Pbbedonostseff,  was  a  conservative  of  the  conservatives,  to 
whom  the  Orthodox  Greek  Church  seemed  the  only  thing  that 
bound  the  many  peoples  of  Russia  into  the  Russian  people.* 
The  creed  of  this  church  is  mediaeval:  of  its  teachings  and  in- 
fluence Tolstoi  has  told,  and  the  world  believes  him. 

The  very  month  after  the  sharp  words  of  the  German 
Emperor,  the  Czar,  against  the  protest  of  Pobedonostseff,  de- 
creed  rcHgious  liberty;  and  his  subsequent  convocation  of  thf 
Douma  was  closely  followed  by  directions  to  the  Metropolitan 
who  is  president  of  the  Holy  Synod  to  call  a  general  council  of 
the  Orthodox  Greek  Church.  No  such  council  had  met  since 
1654.  It  can  hardly  fail  to  give  a  new  direction  to  the  religious 
life  of  the  mass  of  the  Russian  people.^  Already  they  have 
shown  a  new  interest  in  what  it  stands  for,  by  a  general  inquiry 
for  copies  of  the  Bible.  More  parts  of  Bibles  and  Testaments 
were  sold  in  Russia  last  year  than  in  any  year  before,  over 
half  a  million  in  European  Russia  alone.  The  fruits  have  not 
thus  far  made  for  peace,  but  they  may  be  worth  more  than  peace. 

A  department  of  the  Holy  Synod  until  recently,  as  a  bureau 
of  "Spiritual  Censure,"  held  control  of  all  pubHcations  on 
ecclesiastical' history,  theology,  or  philosophy.  Nothing  could 
be  pubHshed  or  sold  on  these  topics  without  its  permission. 
It  is  worth  noting  that  from  1863  this  bureau  forbade  the  cir- 
culation of  any  part  of  the  Old  Testament,  except  the  Psalms, 
in  the  languages  of  the  people.  There  was  too  much  in  the 
other  books  that  breathed  the  spirit  of  revolution. 

*  Autobiography  of  Andrew  D.  White,  II.  chap.  s^. 
Before  these  changes,  Pobedonostseff  and  his  school  had  relied 
on  the  popular  reverence  for  rehgion  as  the  main  support  of  autocracy. 
If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  a  religious  stage  of  development  for  nations, 
Russia  was  still  in  it.  The  events  of  1 906  would  indicate  that  reverence, 
for  her  state  church  at  least,  had  been  seriously  weakened. 
XXXIV  [  21  ] 


THE  POWER   OF  RELIGION 

It  may  indeed  be  safely  said  that  no  single  cause  for  the 
spread  of  religious  liberty  and,  by  consequence,  of  civil  liberty 
in  modern  times  has  been  so  powerful  as  the  circulation  of  the 
Bible  in  all  languages.  It  is  to-day  pronounced  by  pubHshers 
to  be  the  best-selling  book  in  the  world.^  The  market  for  it 
has  steadily  broadened  with  and  because  of  the  new  lati- 
tude of  interpretation  and  criticism  countenanced  by  modern 
churches. 

The  last  sixty  or  seventy  years  has  indeed  given  to  Christen- 
dom a  new  Bible.  It  is  not  that  so  very  much  has  been  dis- 
covered by  archaeologists  or  worked  out  by  critical  research, 
which  was  unknown  before,  but  because  the  attitude  of  Chris- 
tian people  and  Christian  ministers  toward  biblical  study  has 
become  gradually  revolutionized.  Textual  homiletics,  textual 
theology,  unscientific  theories  of  interpretation,  have  become 
generally  discredited.  The  spirit  of  free  inquiry,  which  not 
long  ago  characterized  but  a  few  men  like  Strauss  and  Renan, 
has  now  begun  to  characterize  all  real  Christian  scholarship  in 
the  United  States  and  most  of  it  in  the  world  at  large.  Here, 
from  the  absence  of  religious  establishments  and  the  presence 
of  universal  education  at  public  charge,  it  has  naturally  had 
free  scope.  It  has  given  a  prominence  before  unknown  in 
modern  times,  outside  of  China,  to  character  and  conduct  as  the 
foundations  of  a  true  life.  It  has  brought  the  general  Christian 
world  to  look  upon  them  as  about  the  only  evidence  worth  hav- 
ing that  in  any  man  earth  has  been  brought  close  to  heaven, 
while  still  maintaining  that  character  and  conduct  are  the  fruits 
of  the  ideal,  the  children  of  faith  in  the  invisible  and  eternal.  It 
has  brought  the  wider  world  of  civilized  mankind  in  all  conti- 
nents to  care  little  for  a  man's  theological  beliefs,  everything  for 
his  beliefs,  his  real  beliefs,  as  to  what  is  the  true,  the  good,  and 
the  beautiful. 

Panislamism  has  gained  a  fresh  inspiration  from  this  source. 

^  The  North  India  Bible  Society,  which  is  sixty  years  old,  published 
and  circulated,  between  1890  and  1900,  a  yearly  average  of  87,000 
copies  of  Bibles,  New  Testaments,  and  selected  portions  of  them. 
Since  1900  this  annual  output  has  been  nearly  doubled,  and  the  number 
rose  in  1905  to  195,879. 

XXXIV  [  22  ] 


THE  POWER   OF  RELIGION 

The  Young  Turkish  Party,  already  recognized  as  an  important 
political  force,  founds  itself  on  treating  the  Koran  with  the  same 
free  hand  with  which  Christians  treat  the  Bible,  and  so  bringing 
its  teachings  into  harmony  with  the  new  thought  of  a  new 
time. 

During  the  last  few  years  the  American  people  have  in- 
sisted, to  a  marked  degree,  on  the  observance  of  higher  ethical 
standards  on  the  part  of  their  public  and  of  their  business  men. 
The  movement  in  this  direction  has  been  a  steady  one  for 
more  than  half  a  century.  In  1843  the  foremost  English 
novelist,  fresh  from  a  visit  to  the  United  States,  could  speak  of 
it  as  "that  Republic,  but  yesterday  let  loose  upon  her  noble 
course,  and  but  to-day  so  maimed  and  lame,  so  full  of  sores  and 
ulcers,  foul  to  the  eye  and  almost  hopeless  to  the  sense,  that 
her  best  friends  turn  from  the  loathsome  creature  with  dis- 
gust."^ So  severe  an  arraignment  was  unjustified  in  1843. 
It  would  have  been  impossible  and  unthinkable  at  any  time  since, 
let  us  say,  the  Civil  War.  But  it  was  not  the  Civil  War  that 
elevated  the  moral  standards  of  the  people.  War  is  a  salvation 
to  some  souls,  a  damnation  to  many  more.  "Treasons,  strata- 
gems, and  spoils" — the  spoils  of  the  field  and  the  spoils  of  the 
army  contractor — make  a  poor  soil  for  the  growth  of  public 
morals.  The  American  people  have  grown  to  a  purer  life,  or  at 
least  to  a  demand  for  a  purer  life  on  the  part  of  those  who  lead 
their  fortunes,  mainly  by  force  of  a  world  movement,  which 
has  simply  found  here  the  freest  play. 

The  better  relations  between  Jew  and  Christian  that  now 
generally  exist  are  attributable,  in  no  small  degree,  to  the 
growth  of  this  ethical  spirit;  not  so  much  because  ethics  make 
for  fraternity,  as  that  this  growth  proceeds  from  a  tendency 
on  the  part  of  Christians  toward  acceptance  of  the  same 
fundamental  religious  principles.  The  Jew  has  never  troubled 
himself  very  much  with  the  question  of  personal  immortality, 
and  all  that  goes  with  it  of  responsibility  and  retribution.  His 
aim  has  been  to  make  the  best  of  earth ;  his  hope  that  of  a  Mes- 
sianic era  here.     Christian  theology  has  looked  more  to  a  future 

*  Dickens  in  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  chap.  xxii. 
XXXIV  [  23  ] 


THE  POWER   OF  RELIGION 

world  as  the  real  home  of  men,  in  an  abode  or  state  that,  happy 
or  miserable,  was  to  endure  forever. 

Christendom,  during  the  last  few  years,  has  been  approach- 
ing the  Judaic  view,  as  best  expressive  of  the  immediate  ob- 
jects to  be  pursued  in  human  life.  Hence  among  those  peoples 
which  have  gone  farthest  in  this  direction,  the  political  and 
social  condition  of  the  Jews  is  more  favorable  than  among 
those — like  Russia,  Roumania,  and  Austria — which  have  made 
no  substantial  change  of  position.  If  his  life  on  this  earth  be 
the  great  thing  for  a  man  to  regulate  and  plan  for,  why  complain 
if  the  Jew  wins  the  prizes  of  trade  and  wealth,  though  it  be  by 
concentrating  his  attention  on  material  gains?  "Go  thou  and 
do  likewise"  is  becoming,  perhaps  too  fast  and  with  too  little 
qualification,  the  general  motto  of  the  business  world. 

Christian  theology  anticipated  evolution  in  endeavoring 
to  account  for  what  is  base  in  human  nature.  It  set  it  to  the 
account  of  original  sin.  To  raise  up  a  being  infected  with 
that  not  simply  from  his  birth,  but  through  an  inheritance  from 
ancestors  infected  with  it  for  countless  generations,  was  a  task 
which  God  only  could  accomplish.  To  Him  it  was  the  work 
of  a  moment ;  and  they  called  it  salvation. 

It  was  a  theory  well  calculated  to  have  a  profound  effect  on 
the  human  mind.  It  gave  an  immense  power  to  a  priesthood 
believed  to  have  the  power  of  speaking  for  God  and  declaring 
to  any  man  that  his  salvation  had  been  accomplished.  It  put 
them  by  the  side  of  kings  and  above  kings. 

A  time  has  come  when  the  leaders  of  the  church  are  begin- 
ning to  say  with  John  Fiskc  that  ''original  sin  is  neither  more 
nor  less  than  the  brute  inheritance  which  every  man  carries  with 
him,  and  the  process  of  evolution  is  an  advance  toward  true 
salvation." 

The  church  is  changing — has  changed — its  ground.  It 
is  not  losing — has  not  lost — its  power.  It  makes  use  of  the  old 
truth  in  a  new  way.     It  was  right  at  bottom. 

The  unfolding  of  the  law  of  evolution  from  the  first,  for 
those  who  accepted  it,  unquestionably  tended  to  narrow  the 
order  of  things  in  which  man  has  his  being.     As  the  bond  be 
XXXIV  [  24  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

tween  him  and  the  lowest  forms  of  Hfe  became  visibly  stronger, 
that  between  him  and  any  form  of  Hfe  higher  than  himself  be- 
came visibly  weaker.  He  was  of  less  importance  in  the  world. 
Wallace  could  open  the  gates  to  the  new  vision  of  the  past; 
he  could  not  shut  them.  He  could  not  lead  men  to  any  new 
standpoint  from  which  they  could  look  on  the  earth  as  the  cen- 
tre of  the  intellectual  or  moral  universe. 

The  church,  at  first,  everywhere  disinclined — still  much  of  it 
disinclined — to  accept  the  theory  of  evolution  with  all  that  it  im- 
plies, has  begun  to  readjust  itself  to  its  new  environment.  If, 
she  says,  this  new  evolution  can  produce  from  some  single 
torpid  cell  a  being  with  the  intellectual  and  moral  force  of  man, 
why  may  not  man  contain  the  torpid  cell  out  of  which  in  some 
at  least  may  be  evolving  and  ultimately,  in  some  other  stage  of 
being,  may  be  evolved  what  for  want  of  a  better  word  we  call 
a  Spirit — something  with  an  energy  akin  to  what  we  name 
divine?  Force  is  persistent.  That  it  is  we  know.  What  it 
is  we  do  not  know.  If  persistent  in  what  is  material,  why  not 
persistent  in  what  is  immaterial  ?  If  persistent  in  what  we  call 
time  and  space,  why  not  persistent  in  something  which  we  do 
not  dare  to  call  time  or  space  and  vaguely  name  eternity  ? 

But  questions  like  these  do  not  much  concern  the  mass  of 
humankind.  The  leaders  of  intellectual  life  are  few.  They  are 
followed  at  a  long  interval.  They  know  this  well.  It  is  their 
oifice,  in  every  generation,  to  set  the  goal,  but  to  moderate  rather 
than  to  speed  the  pace  of  the  people  as  they  turn  in  the  new 
direction. 

The  leaders  of  intellectual  life  who  are  in  positions  of  ecclesi- 
astical authority,  under  the  influence  of  these  forces,  have  every- 
where begun  to  preach  a  new  theology.  It  is  a  theology  of  the 
present.  It  might  almost  be  called  a  theology  of  the  earth, 
earthy.  Its  foundation  is  still  the  existence  of  a  great  first 
cause,  which  men  call  God.  Its  aim  is  still  to  set  forth  the  whole 
duty  of  man,  and  to  found  it  on  his  duty  toward  this  almighty 
and  eternal  source  of  his  being.  But  it  sets  forth  with  less  as- 
sumption of  a  knowledge  of  the  unseen.  No  Nicene  creed,  no 
creed  professing  to  define  the  genesis  and  nature  and  attributes 
of  God,  could  ever  be  the  product  of  the  twentieth  century. 
XXXIV  ^  25  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

The  modern  pulpit  and  council  are  content  to  say  with  St.  Paul 
that  ''the  invisible  things  of  him  from  the  creation  of  the  world 
are  clearly  seen,  being  understood  by  the  things  that  are  made, 
even  his  eternal  power  and  Godhead."  The  churches  of  every 
faith,  in  some  degree — of  all  in  proportion  to  their  share  in  the 
time-spirit  of  their  generation — are  pointing  to  Man  as  the 
only  real  revelation  of  the  nature  of  God,  and  to  the  opportuni- 
ties of  the  present  life  as  what  chiefly  concerns  him,  in  his 
highest  as  well  as  his  lowest  desires  and  activities.  One  hears 
little  in  churches  led  by  an  educated  clergy  of  a  future  heaven, 
and  less  of  a  future  hell.  It  is  this  pressing,  immediate  world 
about  us,  that  is  their  theme.  "One  world  at  a  time"  is  more 
and  more  becoming  the  practical  doctrine  of  the  modern  pulpit. 
Do  your  duty  to-day,  and  be  not  anxious  about  to-morrow, 
whether  it  be  the  morrow  of  the  next  sunrise  or  of  a  million  ages. 

What  has  been,  what  is  to  be,  the  effect  of  this  change  in  the 
attitude  of  the  church  on  the  course  of  human  history  ?  It  will 
not  remove  the  power  of  theistic  appeal.  If  it  should  spread 
over  all  nations,  and  all  faiths,  it  will  leave  unimpaired  the  mo- 
tives of  duty  to  God  and  country.  A  war  to  maintain  the  honor 
of  fatherland  and  of  the  fathers  from  whom  it  was  inherited 
will  always  enhst  the  sympathies  of  the  people  with  double 
force,  if  they  are  quickened  by  religious  convictions. 

Recent  events  have  shown  that  soldiers  who  believe  they  are 
fighting  God's  battles  may  yield  before  those  not  superior  in 
numbers  or  arms  who  believe  that  in  fighting  they  are  honoring 
the  first  ancestors  of  the  sovereign,  whose  spirit  in  an  ancestor 
world  holds  sway  over  those  of  their  own  ancestors.  The 
double  character  of  the  Mikado  of  Japan  as  spiritual  leader 
and  earthly  sovereign,  impressed  by  the  institution  of  ancestor 
worship  upon  every  Japanese  from  infancy,  moves  him  far 
more  deeply  than  the  Russian  muzhik  is  affected  by  his  reverence 
for  the  Czar  as  head  of  his  country's  church.  Admiral  Togo's 
message  to  the  Mikado  last  year,  attributing  to  his  superhuman 
influence  the  annihilation  of  the  Russian  fleet,  spoke  the  real 
conviction  of  a  great  man  and  a  great  people. 

We  must  never  forget  that  not  only  were  the  founders  of  all 
the  great  religions  of  Asiatic  origin,  but  that  religion  is  now  a 
XXXIV  [  26  ] 


THE  POWER   OF  RELIGION 

more  vital  force  in  Asia  than  on  any  other  continent.  The  deep, 
if  dreamy,  spiritual  insight,  the  brooding  intellectual  habit,  the 
strength  of  antecedents,  that  belong  to  the  East,  put  religion 
there  in  a  position  as  lofty  as  it  is  unique. 

Hegel  observed  that  there  are  two  natural  steps  in  human 
life,  that  of  subjectivity  and  objectivity.  The  youth  bends  his 
thoughts  toward  the  correspondence  that  he  is  to  estabhsh 
between  himself  and  the  universe.  He  proceeds  from  himself 
outward.  He  joins  his  life  to  the  ideal,  in  hope  and  faith.  Years 
pass  and  he  has  found  his  place.  There  is  a  round  of  daily 
duties  and  perhaps  of  pleasures,  on  which  his  attention  centres. 
His  thoughts  now  turn  not  to  the  ideal  but  to  what  Hfe  in  fact 
has  brought  him,  and  to  how  that  shall  be  best  accomphshed. 

The  race  of  man  pursues  the  same  stages.  In  the  East  they 
are  still  in  the  first.  Even  in  Japan,  so  largely  occidentalized, 
they  are  constructing  for  themselves  a  new  ideal  of  Christianity. 
Except  for  Japan,  they  are  what  they  were.  Subjectivity  still 
holds  them  captive. 

China  has  recently  aboHshed  the  requirement  of  familiarity 
with  the  Confucian  classics  on  the  part  of  those  desiring  official 
appointment  or  promotion.  The  first  examination  under  the 
new  system  took  place  this  fall,  and  the  nine  receiving  the  high- 
est marks  were  men  educated  in  the  United  States  or  Europe — 
the  first  of  them  a  doctor  of  philosophy  and  the  next  a  doctor 
of  civil  law  of  an  American  university. 

A  change  like  this  involves,  as  a  necessary  consequence,  the 
rise  of  new  national  ideals.  The  calm  and  restful  tone  of  the 
Confucian  philosophy  of  Hfe  will  be  replaced  by  something  less 
smooth  and  more  deep,  more  religious.  The  spirit  ot  the  West 
has  burst  upon  the  silent  sea  of  self-satisfied  seclusion  on  which 
China  has  been  idly  floating  for  two  thousand  years.  It  has 
troubled  the  waters.  It  may  turn  them  into  a  river  that  will 
run  far. 

As  respects  Mahometanism,  the  fundamental  precepts 
of  that  faith  are  such  as  necessarily  to  give  them  a  strong 
political  effect.^     Its  adherents  stand  together,  like  the  members 

1  Only  by  force  of  the  Treaty  of  Berlin  of  1878  has  religious  tolera- 
tion been  anything  but  an  empty  word  at  Constantinople. 

XXXIV  [  27  ] 


THE   POWER   OF   RELIGION 

of  a  secret  order.  In  Europe  they  cling  to  their  religion  as 
closely  as  in  Asia.  In  1900  seven  thousand  Mahometan  Ser- 
vians suddenly  left  the  country,  because  one  Mahometan  had 
been  received  into  a  Christian  church.* 

The  strongest  assurance  of  the  power  of  the  Sublime  Porte 
is  the  general  recognition  by  the  Mahometan  world,  and  the 
King  of  Great  Britain  as  Emperor  of  India,  of  the  Sultan  of 
Turkey  as  the  true  Caliph  or  Commander  of  the  Faithful. 
The  strongest  menace  of  the  British  Empire  in  the  East  is  the 
utter  f oreignness  there  of  Western  Christianity.  The  European 
sent  to  Asia  or  Africa  to  govern  a  subject  race  fmds  himself 
separated  from  it  by  an  aloofness  which  he  cannot  conquer. 
It  does  not  proceed  from  him.  He  is  often  anxious  to  overcome 
it  in  the  native.  But  it  is  the  inevitable  fruit  of  antipathetic 
relations,  springing  from  religious  differences. 

The  religions  of  the  West  rule  the  religionist.  The  religion 
of  Islam  rules  every  Mahometan,  be  he  saint  or  sinner; 
and  in  case  of  war  all  are  faithful  to  the  commander  of  the 
faithful.  Lord  Cromer,  a  few  months  ago,  received  a  warning 
letter  from  one  professing  to  write  in  the  name  of  his  people  of 
Egypt,  and  whose  stately  periods  remind  one  of  the  Hebrew 
prophets.     It  was  addressed  to  "the  Reformer  of  Egypt." 

"He  must  be  blind  [said  the  writer],  who  sees  not  what  the 
English  have  wrought  in  Egypt:  the  gates  of  justice  stand 
open  to  the  poor;  the  streams  flow  through  the  land  and  are  not 
stopped  at  the  order  of  the  strong;  the  poor  man  is  Hfted  up 
and  the  rich  man  pulled  down;  the  hand  of  the  oppressor  and 
the  briber  is  struck  when  outstretched  to  do  evil.  Our  eyes  see 
these  things  and  we  know  from  whom  they  come.  You  will 
say,  'Be  thankful,  O,  men  of  Egypt!  and  bless  those  who 
benefit  you  ' ;  and  very  many  of  us — those  who  preserve  a  free 
mind  and  are  not  ruled  by  flattery  and  guile — are  thankful. 
But  thanks  lie  on  the  surface  of  the  heart,  and  beneath  is  a 
deep  well. 

**  While  peace  is  in  the  land  the  spirit  of  Islam  sleeps.     We 

^  Francis  H.  E.  Palmer,  Austro -Hungarian  Life  (New  York,  1903), 
p.  88. 

XXXIV  [  28  ] 


THE   POWER    OF   RELIGION 

hear  the  imam  cry  out  in  the  mosque  against  the  unbelievers, 
but  his  words  pass  by  Uke  wind  and  are  lost.  Children  hear 
them  for  the  first  time  and  do  not  understand  them;  old  men 
have  heard  them  from  childhood  and  pay  no  heed. 

*'But  it  is  said,  'There  is  war  between  England  and  Abdul- 
Hamid  Khan.'  If  that  be  so,  a  change  must  come.  The 
words  of  the  imam  are  echoed  in  every  heart,  and  every  Moslem 
hears  only  the  cry  of  the  faith.  As  men  we  do  not  love  the  sons 
of  Osman;  the  children  at  the  breast  know  their  words,  and 
that  they  have  trodden  down  the  Egyptians  like  dry  reeds. 
But  as  Moslems  they  are  our  brethren;  the  KhaUf  holds  the 
sacred  places  and  the  noble  relics.  Though  the  Khalif  were 
hapless  as  Bajazid,  cruel  as  Murad,  or  mad  as  Ibrahim,  he  is  the 
shadow  of  God,  and  every  Moslem  must  leap  up  at  his  call  as 
the  willing  servant  to  his  master,  though  the  wolf  may  devour 
his  child  while  he  does  his  master's  work.  The  call  of  the 
Sultan  is  the  call  of  the  faith ;  it  carries  with  it  the  command  of 
the  Prophet,  blessings,  etc.  I  and  many  more  trust  that  all 
may  yet  be  peace;  but  if  it  be  war,  be  sure  that  he  who  has 
a  sword  will  draw  it,  he  who  has  a  club  will  strike  with  it. 
The  women  will  cry  from  the  housetops,  'God  give  victory  to 
Islam!' 

"  You  will  say : '  The  Egyptian  is  more  ungrateful  than  a  dog, 
which  remembers  the  hand  which  fed  him.  He  is  foolish  as 
the  madman  who  pulls  down  the  rooftree  of  his  house  upon 
himself.'  It  may  be  so  to  worldly  eyes,  but  in  the  time  of 
danger  to  Islam  the  Moslem  turns  away  from  the  things  of 
this  world  and  thirsts  only  for  the  service  of  his  faith,  even 
though  he  looks  in  the  face  of  death.  May  God  (His  name  be 
glorified)  avert  the  evil." 

It  is  the  existence  of  this  spirit  which  makes  the  punish- 
ments often  inflicted  on  insurgents  by  the  British  in  their 
Eastern  possessions  sharp  up  to  the  point  of  barbarism.  Noth- 
ing less  tells  there. 

It  is  the  mosque  that  guards  the  palace  of  the  Sultan. 

Sir  WilHam  Marriott,  when  in  company  with  Ismail 
Pasha,  the  first  Khedive  of  Egypt,  happened  to  meet  in  Bou- 
XXXIV  [  29  ] 


THE   POWER   OF  RELIGION 

logne  a  procession  of  young  girls  on  their  way  to  their  first 
communion.  The  Pasha  saluted  it  with  a  low  reverence. 
"Your  Highness  is  more  Catholic  than  the  Catholics,"  said 
Sir  William.  ''Ah,"  was  the  reply,  "you  see  I  have  ruled,  and 
no  man  can  rule  without  religion."^ 

On  this  point  East  and  West  can  both  agree.  Napoleon  said 
in  reference  to  the  Concordat  of  1801,  that  he  saw  in  the  church 
not  the  mystery  of  the  incarnation  but  the  mystery  of  social 
order.  Later,  at  the  height  of  his  power,  speaking  in  the  same 
vein,  he  intimated  his  belief  that  Christianity  was  an  illusion, 
but  a  very  useful  one.  It  assured  the  tranquillity  of  the  state  in 
reconciling  man  with  himself  and  giving  him  a  philosophy 
to  live  by.  The  age  of  illusions  was  for  nations,  as  for  individ- 
uals, the  age  of  happiness.^ 

It  is  not  for  history  to  pronounce  whether  any  religion  or 
all  religions  be  founded  on  mere  illusions.  She  must  leave 
that  to  theologians  and  psychologists.  But  in  her  field  of  in- 
ductive sociology,  she  owns  still  the  continuing  force  of  the 
religious  motive. 

In  modern  politics  it  takes  on  a  new  importance.  They 
are  expressed  in  terms  of  representative  government.  It  may 
be  representation  by  a  legislature  or  by  a  ministry.  In  either 
case  it  will  assume  to  represent  the  people  by  representing  a 
party.  Representative  government  implies  and  involves  party 
organization.  Party  organization  is  unfavorable  to  the  ex- 
pression of  candid,  impartial  pubHc  opinion.  But  let  any 
religious  question  be  involved,  and  public  opinion  will  find  a 
way  to  express  itself,  which  no  party  machinery  can  seriously 
obstruct. 

So  in  world  politics,  now  so  largely  governed  by  a  public 
opinion  of  the  world,  the  pressure  that  can  be  brought  upon  any 
one  power  by  others— that  is  brought  upon  each  by  other 
peoples  through  the  press— will  be  immensely  strengthened  if  it 
be  impelled  by  an  ethical  or  religious  motive;  ethical  or  relig- 
ious, for  an  ethical  impulse  common  to  many  nations  belongs 
to  the  religion  of  humanity. 

1  Memoirs  of  Grant  Duff,  II.  18. 

2  Memoirs  of  Talleyrand,  Putnam's  edition,  I.  339. 

XXXIV  [  30  ] 


THE  POWER  OF  RELIGION 

That  grows  as  ecclesiasticism  declines.  The  Christian 
church  has  been  gradually  reduced,  to  use  the  phrase  of  Gardi- 
ner, "from  the  exercise  of  power  to  the  employment  of  in- 
fluence." Its  tendencies  of  thought  run,  more  than  those 
fostered  by  any  other  of  the  great  religions,  toward  loyalty 
to  humanity,  rather  than  to  race.  It  is  the  only  one  that  makes 
any  serious  effort  to  preach  its  gospel  ''to  every  creature." 
''We  recognize,"  said  Tertullian,  "one  commonwealth,  the 
world."  It  does  not  hesitate  to  put  its  own  rules  above  those 
assumed  for  political  science  or  economy.  From  the  churches 
of  England  came  the  last  great  impulse  that  carried  through  the 
Corn  Laws,  and  made  free  trade  her  policy  to-day.  There  are 
signs  of  a  movement  in  the  churches  of  the  United  States  in  the 
same  direction.  Should  it  gather  force,  statesmen  must  reckon 
seriously  with  it. 

Renan,  in  his  "Life  of  Jesus," ^  remarks  that  he  was  the  first 
of  men  to  conceive,  or  at  all  events  to  put  life  into  that  thought, 
that  liberty  was  something  independent  of  politics;  that  one's 
country  is  not  everything;  and  that  the  man  is  anterior  and 
superior  to  the  citizen. 

The  share  of  government  in  human  society  becomes  less  ob- 
trusive as  time  goes  on.  Show  of  force  declines  as  the  senti- 
ment of  obedience  to  law  becomes  more  prevalent.  Public 
authority  is  more  and  more  localized  in  small  political  com- 
munities, there  to  be  administered  by  representatives  of  the 
inhabitants.  These  social  principles  go  to  diminish  the  weight 
of  national  governments,  and  make  the  individual  man  feel 
that  he  is  a  citizen  first  of  his  own  local  community  and  then  of 
the  world.  They  also  strongly  reinforce  the  general  trend  of 
the  Christian  religion  (which  we  may  fairly  say  is  to-day  the 
strongest  of  any  in  its  influence  upon  human  history)  toward 
insistence  on  universal  brotherhood  as  the  ultimate  criterion 
of  international  obligations. 

^  Chapter  vii. 


XXXIV  [  31  ] 


XXXV 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILl 
ZATION 

"SOCIAL    CULTURE    IN    EDUCATION   AND 
RELIGION" 

BY 

IWILLIAM  T.  HARRIS,  L.LD. 

FORMER   UNITED    STATES   COMMISSIONER    OF   EDUCATION 


yJCCEFTING  on  the  high  authority  oj  Professor  Baldwin 
the  vast  importance  oj  the  influence  oj  religion  upon  modern 
life,  the  obverse  oj  that  same  question,  the  meaning  oj  religion, 
its  outlook,  its  historical  development,  becomes  equally  impor- 
tant. It  is  this  problem  oj  the  growth  oj  religious  thought,  its 
educational  influence  upon  man  and  upon  his  educational  in- 
stitutions, which  is  here  taken  up  by  Mr.  William  T.  Harris, 
jor  many  years,  and  until  his  recent  retirement,  the  United  States 
Commissioner  oj  Education,  This  address  was  first  delivered 
by  Mr.  Harris  be  jor  e  the  International  Congress  oj  Arts  and 
Sciences  at  the  St.  Louis  exhibition.  It  has  since  appeared  in 
the  Educational  Review,  and  is  here  published  under  Mr.  H arris'' s 
revision. 

I  SHALL  announce  as  my  thesis  that:  Social  Culture  is  the 
training  of  the  individual  for  social  institutions. 

Man  by  his  social  institutions  secures  the  adjustment  of  the 
individual  to  the  social  whole — the  social  unit.  The  person, 
or  individual,  comes  into  such  harmony  and  co-operation  with 
human  society  as  a  whole  that  he  may  receive  a  share  of  all 
the  production  of  his  fellow-men;  be  protected  against  violence 
by  their  united  strength;  given  the  privilege  of  accumulating 
XXXV  [  I  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

property  and  of  enjoying  it  in  peace  and  security,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  escape  from  sudden  approaches  of  famine  and 
penury  by  reason  of  seasonal  extremes  or  by  reason  of  the 
vicissitudes  of  infancy,  old  age,  disease,  or  of  the  perturbations 
affecting  the  community.  And  finally,  there  is  participation 
in  the  wisdom  of  the  race — the  opportunity  of  sharing  in  the 
knowledge  that  comes  from  the  scientific  inventory  of  nature  in 
all  its  kingdoms,  and  of  human  fife  on  the  globe  in  all  its  va- 
jied  experiments,  successful  and  unsuccessful;  the  opportunity 
of  gaining  an  insight  into  the  higher  results  of  science  in  the 
field  of  discovery  of  laws  and  principles — the  permanent  forms 
of  existence  under  the  variable  conditions  of  time  and  place. 
Finally,  we  may  share,  through  our  membership  in  the  social 
unity,  in  the  moral  insights  that  have  resulted  from  the  discipline 
of  pain,  the  defeats  and  discomfitures  arising  from  the  choice 
of  mistaken  careers  on  the  part  of  individuals  and  entire  com- 
munities. The  sin  and  error  of  men  have  vicariously  helped 
the  race  by  great  object  lessons  which  have  taught  mankind 
through  all  the  ages,  and  now  teach  the  present  generation  of 
men — all  the  more  effectively  because  of  the  devices  of  our 
civilization  which  not  only  make  the  records  of  the  past  ac- 
cessible to  each  and  every  individual,  but  institute  a  present 
means  of  intercommunication  by  and  through  which  each 
people — each  individual — may  see  from  day  to  day  the  unfold- 
ing of  the  drama  of  human  history. 

The  good  of  this  unity  of  the  individual  with  the  social 
whole  by  means  of  institutions  may  be  summed  up  by  saying 
that  it  re-enforces  the  individual  by  the  labor  of  all,  the  thought 
of  all,  and  the  good  fortune  of  all.  It  takes  from  him  only 
his  trifling  contribution  from  his  trade  or  vocation,  and  gives 
in  return  a  share  in  the  gigantic  aggregate  of  productions  of 
all  mankind.  It  receives  from  him  the  experience  of  his  little 
life  and  gives  him  in  return  the  experience  of  the  race,  a  myriad 
of  myriads  strong,  and  working  through  millenniums. 

What  Thomas  Hobbes  said  of  the  blessings  of  the  political 
whole,  the  State,  is  true  when  applied  to  civiHzation  as  an  inter- 
national combination  of  States. 

"Outside  of  the  State,"  said  he,  ''is found  only  the  dominion 
XXXV  [ 2  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

of  the  passions— war,  fear,  poverty,  filth,  isolation,  barbarism, 
ignorance,  and  savagery ;  while  in  the  State  is  found  the  domin- 
ion of  reason— peace,  security,  riches,  ornament,  sociabihty, 
elegance,  science,  and  good-will." 

With  this  point  of  view  we  see  at  a  glance  the  potency  of 
the  arts  of  social  cuhure,  fitting  as  they  do  the  individual  for 
a  co-operative  life  with  his  fellow-men  in  the  institutions  of 
civilization. 

My  thesis  proceeds  from  this  insight  to  lay  down  the  doctrine 
that  the  first  social  culture  is  religion  and  that  religion  is  the 
foundation  of  social  life  in  so  far  as  that  social  Hfe  belongs  to 
the  history  of  civilization.  Religion  in  the  first  place  is  not 
merely  the  process  of  an  individual  mind,  but  it  is  a  great  social 
process  of  intellect  and  will  and  heart.  Its  ideas  are  not  the 
unaided  thoughts  of  individual  scholars,  but  the  aggregate  re- 
suks  of  a  social  activity  of  intellect,  so  to  speak;  each  thought 
of  the  individual  being  modified  by  the  thought  of  his  com- 
munity so  that  it  comes  to  the  individual  with  the  substantial 
impress  of  authority. 

There  is  a  religious  social  process,  the  most  serious  of  all 
social  activity.  In  it  the  religious  view  of  the  world  is  shaped 
and  delivered  to  the  individual  by  authority  such  as  cannot  be 
resisted  by  him  except  with  martyrdom.  Each  modification 
in  the  body  of  reUgious  doctrine  has  come  through  individual 
innovation,  but  at  the  expense  of  disaster  to  his  life.  He  had 
to  sacrifice  his  Hfe  so  far  as  his  ordinary  prosperity  was  con- 
cerned, and  his  doctrine  had  to  be  taken  up  by  his  fellow-men 
acting  as  a  social  whole,  and  translated  into  their  mode  of  view- 
ing divine  revelation  before  it  effected  a  modification  in  the  popu- 
lar faith.  It  was  a  process  of  social  assimilation  of  the  product 
of  the  individual  comparable  to  the  physiologic  process  by 
which  the  organs  of  the  body  take  up  a  portion  of  food  and 
convert  it  into  a  blood  corpuscle  before  adding  it  to  the  bodily 
structure. 

So  in  the  living  church  of  a  people  goes  on  forever  the  great 
process  of  receiving  new  views  from  its  members,  and  its  mem- 
bers include  not  only  the  Saint  Bernards,  but  also  the  Voltaires. 
XXXV  [  3 ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

The  Church  receives  the  new  views,  but  does  not  by  any  means 
adopt  them  until  it  has  submitted  them  to  the  negative  process 
of  criticism  and  ehmination,  and  finally  to  the  transforming 
process  that  selects  the  available  portions  for  assimilation  and 
nutriment.  This  is  certainly  the  slowest  and  most  conservative 
spiritual  process  that  goes  on  in  civilization.  But  it  is  by  all 
means  the  most  salutary.  The  individuals  that  suggest  the 
most  radical  modifications  are  swiftly  set  aside,  and  their  result 
is  scarcely  visible  in  the  body  of  faith  transmitted  to  the  next 
generation. 

It  is  clear  this  conservatism  is  necessary.  Any  new  modi- 
fication of  doctrine  gets  adopted  only  by  the  readjustment  of 
individuals  within  the  communion  or  church.  All  the  inertia 
of  the  institution  is  against  it.  Again,  it  is  not  only  necessary 
but  desirable,  because  it  is  a  purification  process,  the  trans- 
mutation of  what  is  individual  and  tainted  with  idiosyncrasy, 
into  what  is  universal  and  well  adapted  for  all  members  within 
the  communion.  The  Church  must  prove  all  things  and  hold 
fast  to  that  which  can  stand  the  test.  The  test  is  furnished 
by  what  is  old,  by  what  is  already  firmly  fixed  in  the  body  of 
religious  faith.  If  its  foundations  could  be  uprooted  so  that 
religion  gave  up  the  body  of  its  faith,  all  authority  would  go 
at  once  to  the  ground,  and  with  it  the  relation  of  the  institu- 
tional whole  to  the  individuals  within  it.  Such  an  event  can 
scarcely  be  conceived  in  a  realizing  sense,  but  a  study  of  the 
Reign  of  Terror  in  the  French  Revolution  aids  one  to  gain  a 
point  of  view.  When  a  citizen  finds  himself  in  a  social  whole 
in  which  all  the  principles  that  have  governed  the  community 
have  become  shaky,  he  gets  to  be  unable  to  count  on  any  par- 
ticular set  of  social  reactions  in  his  neighbors  from  day  to 
day,  or  to  calculate  what  motives  they  may  entertain  in  their 
minds  in  the  presence  of  any  practical  situation.  He  is  forced 
into  an  attitude  of  universal  suspicion  of  the  intentions  of  his 
fellow-men,  and  he  is  in  his  turn  a  general  object  of  suspicion 
himself.  The  solution  forced  on  the  community  is  the  adoption, 
by  the  Committee  of  Safety,  of  death  for  all  suspected  ones. 
But  the  more  deaths  the  more  suspicion.  For  the  relatives 
of  the  slain— those  who  yesterday  were  with  us,  but  who  en- 
XXXV  [  4  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

deavored  to  dissuade  us  from  guillotining  their  parents,  brothers, 
or  cousins — as  to  those  we  are  warranted  in  suspecting  that  they 
to-day  are  planning  a  new  revolution  and  to-morrow  may  put 
us  to  death. 

We  may  by  this,  after  a  sort,  realize  the  situation  when  the 
foundations  of  reHgious  belief  are  utterly  broken  up. 

Fortunately  for  us  our  civilization  carries  with  it,  even  un- 
der varying  creeds,  sects,  and  denominations,  the  great  body 
of  religious  belief  unquestioned.  Only  the  Nihilists  offer  a 
radical  denial  to  this  body  of  Christian  doctrine,  and  we  can 
see  how  easily  we  might  come  to  a  Reign  of  Terror  if  it  were 
possible  to  spread  this  Nihihstic  doctrine  widely  among  any 
considerable  class  of  our  people.  For  the  Nihilistic  view  would 
extend  its  death  remedy,  after  the  destruction  of  its  enemies, 
to  its  own  ranks,  and  guillotine  its  own  Robespierres  by  rea- 
son of  suspicion  and  distrust  entertained  toward  one's  accom- 
phces. 

The  substantiality  of  the  view  of  religion  is  the  basis  of 
civilization.  It  holds  conservatively  to  elementary  notions  of 
an  affirmative  character  such  as  the  monogamic  marriage, 
the  protection  of  helpless  infancy  in  certain  fundamental  rights, 
the  protection  of  women;  the  care  for  the  aged  and  the  weak- 
lings of  society ;  private  ownership  of  property,  including  under 
property  land  and  franchises  as  well  as  movable  chattels. 
The  Church  includes  in  its  fundamentals  the  security  of  life 
against  violence,  and  makes  murder  the  most  heinous  of  crimes. 
It  insists  on  respect  for  established  law  and  for  the  magistrates 
themselves.  It  even  goes  so  far  as  to  protect  the  heretic  and 
to  insure  the  private  right  of  the  individual  to  dissent  from  the 
established  or  prevalent  reHgious  creeds  so  far  as  church 
worship  or  dogmas  of  theology  are  concerned.  It  is  obvious 
that  the  community  as  a  social  whole  would  be  obliged  to  limit 
its  toleration  of  private  creeds  were  there  a  great  extension  of 
Nihilism  possible  or  were  there  to  arise  sects  that  attacked  the 
sacredness  of  the  family  institution — by  polygamy,  for  example, 
or  by  the  abolition  of  marriage;  or  sects  that  attacked  civil 
society  by  attempting  practically  to  abolish  the  ownership  of 
property  (Proudhon  said,  "All  property  is  robbery");  or  by 
XXXV  [ 5  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

the  denial  of  the  right  of  laborers  to  contract  with  employers 
for  their  labor. 

When  we  study  these  fundamental  ideas  common  to  the 
different  confessions  of  our  composite  church,  we  see  at  once 
how  powerful  is  the  estabUshed  doctrine  of  the  prevailing 
religious  ideal  in  our  civilization  in  exerting  an  authoritative 
control  over  individuals  as  to  behef  and  practice. 

Many  people  have  come  to  believe,  in  this  age  of  greatly 
extended  religious  toleration,  that  the  Church  as  an  institu- 
tion is  moribund,  and  that  its  authority  is  about  to  disappear 
wholly  from  the  earth  in  an  age  of  science,  of  the  ballot  box, 
and  of  universal  secular  education  at  public  expense.  It 
would  seem  to  them  that  pubHc  opinion  is  sufficient  or  about 
to  become  sufficient,  by  means  of  the  newspaper  and  the  book, 
to  secure  Hfe,  personal  Hberty,  and  the  peaceful  pursuit  of 
happiness,  without  the  necessity  for  a  religious  provision  for 
social  cukure.  Only  the  culture  that  comes  from  the  secular 
school  is  adjudged  to  be  necessary  for  all. 

For  the  proper  consideration  of  this  question  it  is  necessary 
to  take  up  more  fundamentally  the  origin  and  real  function 
of  religion.  We  shall  find  two  fundamental  views  of  nature 
and  man  the  foundation  of  two  opposite  religious  movements 
in  the  world  history — the  Christian  and  the  Oriental.  Accord- 
ing to  one  of  these  views  our  free  secular  hfe,  our  science  and 
the  arts,  our  literature  and  our  productive  industry  and  our 
commerce,  are  utterly  perverse  and  not  to  be  tolerated  on  any 
terms. 

A  year  ago  or  more  there  was  published  a  letter  written  by 
an  Arab  Sheik  of  Bagdad  to  the  editor  of  a  Paris  newspaper 
{La  Revue  for  March,  1902),  in  which  he  expressed  admira- 
tion for  certain  external  characteristics  of  European  civiliza- 
tion, but  found  no  words  bitter  enough  for  his  detestation  of 
the  Christian  religion  professed  by  all  European  nations.  To 
him  it  was  all  a  horrible  blasphemy.  The  pure  One  as  preached 
in  the  Koran  is  sovereign  and  transcendent,  and  to  speak  of  it 
as  divine-human,  or  as  triune  in  the  Christian  sense,  is  to  the 
Mahometan  an  act  of  unspeakable  sacrilege.  Therefore 
XXXV  [ 6  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

if  our  triumphs  in  science  and  art  flow  from  our  religion  the 
worshipper  of  Islam  must  regard  them  as  his  mortal  f  oe.^  And 
yet  the  Arab  Sheik  is  much  nearer  to  the  Christian  view  than 
is  the  Buddhist  or  the  Brahmin.  The  East  Indian  view  holds 
a  first  principle  that  repudiates  or  shuts  out  from  its  attributes 
consciousness  and  will  and  feeling — all  the  elements  of  per- 
sonality.    But  the  Allah  of  the  Koran  is  personal  and  in  an 

^  Le  Dernier  Mot  de  Vlslam  a  VEurope.  Par  le  Sheikh  Abdul 
Hagk  de  Bagdad;  Paris,  La  Revue  No.  5  (ist  March,  1902).  Passage 
translated  from  the  beginning: 

"Christian  Peoples:  The  hatred  of  Islam  against  Europe  is 
implacable.  After  ages  of  effort  to  effect  a  reconciliation  between 
us,  the  only  result  to-day  is  that  we  detest  you  more  than  ever.  This 
civilization  of  yours  and  its  marvels  of  progress  which  have  rendered 
you  so  rich  and  so  powerful,  be  it  known  to  you  that  we  hate  them 
and  we  spurn  them  with  our  very  souls  .  .  .  the  Mohammedan 
religion  is  to-day  in  open  hostility  against  your  world  of  progress.  .  .  . 
We  explain  how  it  is  that  we  spurn  with  horror  not  only  your  religious 
doctrines  but  all  your  science,  all  your  arts,  and  everything  that 
comes  from  Christian  Europe  ...  I  the  humble  Sheik  Abdul  Hagk, 
member  of  the  holy  Panislamistic  league,  come  with  a  special  mission 
to  explain  clearly  how  this  comes  to  be.  .  .  .  Our  creed  is  this: 
There  is  in  the  universe  one  sole  being,  God,  source  of  all  power,  of 
all  light,  of  all  truth,  of  all  justice,  and  of  all  goodness;  He  has  not 
been  generated;  He  has  not  generated  any  one.  He  is  single,  in- 
finite, eternal;  Alone,  He  wished  to  be  known;  He  made  the  universe, 
He  created  man.  He  surrounded  man  with  the  splendors  of  crea- 
tion and  imposed  on  him  the  sacred  duty  of  worshipping  Him  alone. 
To  worship  continually  this  only  God  is  man's  only  mission  on  earth. 
Man's  soul  is  immortal;  his  life  on  earth  only  a  probation  .  .  .  the 
supreme  duty  of  man  to  worship  the  only  God  and  to  sacrifice  himself 
to  Him  without  reserve;  the  sum  of  all  iniquity  to  renounce  the 
only  God  and  to  worship  a  false  God  .  .  .  for  us  Mussulmans  there 
is  a  world  containing  only  two  kinds  of  human  beings,  believers  and 
infidels  (mecr^ants) ;  love,  charity,  brotherhood  to  the  believers; 
contempt,  disgust,  hatred,  and  war  for  the  infidels.  Among  the 
infidels  the  most  hated  and  the  most  criminal  are  those  who  worship 
God  but  ascribe  to  Him  earthly  parents,  or  fatherhood,  or  a  human 
mother.  Such  monstrous  blindness  seems  to  us  to  surpass  all  measure 
of  iniquity:  the  presence  among  us  of  infidels  of  this  kind  is  the 
plague  of  our  life;  their  doctrine  is  a  direct  menace  to  the  purity 
of  our  faith;  contact  with  them  is  defilement,  and  any  relation  with 
them  whatever  a  torment  to  our  souls. '- 

XXXV  [ 7  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

important  sense  ethical,  having  the  attributes  of  righteousness 
and  goodness  borrowed  from  the  Old  Testament  by  the  Hanyf 
preachers  of  the  Ebionitic  sect  of  Old  Testament  Christians 
who  proselyted  Mahomet,  as  shown  by  Sprenger.*  But 
Brahma  is  above  the  ethical  distinctions  of  good  and  evil,  and 
goodness  and  righteousness  are  as  naught  to  him  and  to  the 
Yogi  who  seeks  by  mortification  to  get  rid  of  his  selfhood. 

Let  us  endeavor  to  find,  by  the  well-known  road  taken  by 
the  philosophy  of  history,  the  twofold  root  of  all  human  ex- 
perience which  gives  rise  to  the  religious  insights  which  in 
their  first  form  of  external  authority  govern  human  life  before 
the  advent  of  the  stage  of  reflection  and  individual  free  thought 
— religion  before  secular  education. 


Examine  life  and  human  experience  as  we  may,  we  find 
our  attention  drawn  to  two  aspects  or  opposite  poles,  so  to  speak, 
of  each  object  presented  to  us. 

The  first  aspect  includes  all  that  is  directly  perceivable  by 
the  five  senses — sight,  sound,  smell,  taste,  and  touch.  This  is 
the  aspect  of  immediate  existence. 

But  experience  begins  at  once  to  go  beyond  the  immediate 
aspect  and  to  find  that  it  is  a  product  or  efl'ect  of  outlying 
causes.  We  are  not  satisfied  with  it  as  an  immediate  exist- 
ence; it  now  comes  to  be  for  us  an  efl"ect  or  mediated  existence. 

If  we  call  the  first  aspect  an  effect,  we  shall  call  this  second 
aspect  a  causal  process. 

Each  immediate  object,  whether  it  be  thing  or  event,  is  an 
effect,  and  beyond  it  we  seek  the  causes  that  explain  it.  The 
first  pole  of  existence  is  therefore  immediate  existence,  and 
the  second  is  the  causal  chain  in  which  the  object,  whether 
it  be  considered  as  thing  or  as  event,  is  found. 

Since  the  causal  process  contains  the  explanation  of  im- 
mediate existence,  the  knowledge  which  is  of  most  importance 
is  that  knowledge  which  includes  the  completest  chain  of  causa- 
tion.    It  is  the  knowledge  of  primal  cause  which  contains  the 

^  Das  Leben  und  die  Lehre  des  Mohammed ;  Berlin  1869.     Chapter 
I.,  pp.  16-27,  37-47,  60,  69,  70-77,  101-107. 
XXXV  [ 8  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

fulness  of  explanation.  And  the  mind  of  the  human  race 
has  devoted  itself  chiefly  to  the  question  of  first  cause. 

In  this  search,  as  already  suggested,  it  has  been  the  mind  of 
the  social  whole  of  a  people  that  has  done  the  thinking,  rather 
than  the  minds  of  mere  individuals.  Even  the  most  enlight- 
ened individuals  and  the  most  original  and  capable  ones  have 
borrowed  the  main  body  of  their  ideas  from  the  religious 
tradition  of  their  people,  and  their  success  in  effecting  modi- 
fications and  new  features  in  the  existing  creed  has  been  due  to 
the  co-operation  of  like-minded  contemporaries  which  assisted 
the  utterance  of  the  new  idea  so  far  as  to  make  it  prevail. 
Again,  the  collisions  of  peoples  settled  by  war  and  conquest 
have  brought  about  new  syntheses  of  religious  doctrine  which 
have  resulted  in  deeper  rehgious  insight  and  more  consistent 
views  of  the  divine  nature. 

It  has  been  the  long- continued  process  of  pondering  on  the 
second  aspect  of  things  and  events,  the  second  pole  of  ex- 
perience, that  has  reached  the  religious  dogmas  of  the  greater 
and  greatest  religions  of  human  history — a  process  of  social 
units  in  which  whole  peoples  have  merged. 

This  process  has  been  a  study  of  the  question  how  the  per- 
fect One  can  be  conceived  as  making  a  world  of  imperfect 
beings.  For  imperfect  or  derivative  beings  demand  another 
order  of  being,  an  originating  source,  as  a  logical  condition  of 
existence.  But  this  source  must  explain  not  only  the  effi- 
cient cause  of  the  imperfect,  but  also  the  motive  or  purpose, 
the  final  cause  or  end,  of  the  creation  of  the  imperfect  being. 

There  are  two  great  steps  which  religion  takes  after  it  leaves 
ancestor  worship  and  other  forms  of  animism,  in  which  dis- 
embodied individuals  as  good  or  evil  demons  reign  as  personal 
causes  in  an  order  above  the  natural  order  of  things  and  events 
which  are  immediately  present  to  our  senses. 

As  the  intellect  of  man  became  developed,  socially  and 
individually,  the  great  step  was  taken  above  all  secondary 
causes  to  a  first  cause  transcending  nature  and  also  transcend- 
ing time  and  space — the  logical  conditions  of  finitude  and  mul- 
tiplicity. 

The  transcendent  unity,  in  which  all  things  and  events  lost 
XXXV  [ 9  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

their  individual  being  and  mingled  in  one  chaotic  confusion, 
is  conceived  as  a  great  void  into  which  all  things  and  events 
are  resolved  when  traced  to  their  first  principle. 

Transcendence  was  in  the  first  stage  of  religious  con- 
templation the  important  attribute  to  be  kept  in  mind  when 
thinking  of  the  First  Cause. 

To  halt  in  this  thought  of  mere  transcendence  of  the  world 
meant  pantheism  in  the  sense  that  the  One  is  conceived  to 
possess  all  being  and  to  be  devoid  of  fmitude.  It  exists  apart 
in  an  order  above  all  finitude,  as  found  in  our  experience.  To 
deny  all  relation  to  finitude  comes  as  a  result  from  this  ab- 
stract thought  of  the  infinite.  It  is  the  nothing  of  the  world 
of  experience  and  is  to  be  thought  of  as  its  dissolution.  The 
philosophy  of  Kapila  in  the  Sankhya  Karika,  the  religion  of 
both  the  Yoga  doctrines,  the  Yoga  of  complete  asceticism  (of 
Patanjali)  as  well  as  the  Karma  Yoga  expounded  in  the  Bha- 
gavad  Gita,  reach  a  One  not  only  above  things  and  events 
and  above  a  world  order,  but  also  elevated  even  above  creator- 
ship — and  above  intellect  and  will — a  pure  being  that  is  as 
empty  as  it  is  pure,  having  no  distinctions  within  itself  nor 
for  others — light  and  darkness,  the  widest  distinction  in  nature, 
are  all  the  same  to  Brahma,  and  so  also  are  good  and  evil, 
sin  and  virtue,  ''shame  and  fame,"  as  Emerson  names  these 
ethical  distinctions  in  his  poem  of  Brahma — they  are  all  one 
to  Brahma. 

When  the  social  mind  had  reached  this  insight  of  the  tran- 
scendence of  the  Great  First  Cause  we  see  that  it  lost  the  world 
of  things  and  events  and  had  annulled  one  of  the  two  poles 
of  experience  which  it  was  attempting  to  explain.  And  it  had 
left  in  its  thought  only  a  great  negative  abstraction,  pure  being 
or  pure  naught,  with  no  positive  distinctions,  not  even  con- 
sciousness, nor  the  moral  idea  of  ethics,  goodness  and  right- 
eousness or  mercy  and  justice.  It  was  obliged  to  deny  the 
creation  altogether  and  conceive  the  world  as  a  vast  dream, 
a  maya. 

Asia's  chief  thought  is  this  idea  of  transcendence  of  the  One 
First  Cause,  above  the  world  and  above  creation  and  creative 
XXXV  [ lO ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

activity.  But  in  the  Old  Testament  we  have  the  last  word  of 
Asia;  it  reveals  an  insight  which  reacts  against  the  thought  of 
this  abstract  oneness  as  transcendental  Being,  and  sets  in  its 
place  the  idea  of  a  creator. 

God  as  creator  makes  the  world,  but  does  not  lose  his 
sovereignty  by  this  act.  He  also  retains  consciousness,  inward 
distinction;  he  is  personal,  having  intellect  and  will  and  also 
feeling. 

The  pantheistic  idea  which  conceived  God  only  as  transcen- 
dent One,  followed  its  thought  out  to  the  denial  of  all  creative 
activity  and  even  to  the  denial  of  all  inward  distinction  of  sub- 
ject and  object.  It  ended  its  search  for  a  first  cause  (follow- 
ing out  the  causal  line  which  it  began  with)  by  denying  causal- 
ity altogether  and  finding  only  a  quiet,  empty  being  devoid 
of  finitude  within  itself  and  annihilating  objective  finitude 
altogether.  Hence  its  search  ended  with  the  denial  of  true 
being  to  the  world  and  to  man. 

But  this  self-contradiction  was  corrected  by  the  Israelitic 
people,  who  felt  an  inward  necessity — a  logical  necessity — of 
conceiving  the  First  Cause  as  active,  both  as  intellect  making 
internal  distinctions  of  subject  and  object,  and  also  as  a  free 
will  creating  a  world  of  finite  reality  in  which  it  could  reveal 
itself  as  goodness.  The  essence  of  goodness,  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment sense  of  the  idea,  consists  in  imparting  true  being  to  that 
which  has  it  not — God  creates  real  beings.  Goodness  not  only 
makes  others,  but  gives  them  rights ;  that  is  to  say,  gives  them 
claims  on  its  consideration. 

While  Orientalism  with  the  single  idea  of  transcendence  or 
sovereignty  arrived  at  the  idea  of  a  One  without  the  many,  and 
at  a  consequent  destruction  of  what  it  set  out  to  explain.  Theism 
found  a  First  Cause  that  could  explain  the  world  as  created 
by  an  ethical  being,  a  personal  One  that  possessed  what  we 
call  "character,"  namely  a  fixed  self-determination  of  will — 
of  which  the  two  elements  were  goodness  and  righteousness. 
This  doctrine  conceived  ethics  as  a  fundamental  element  in  the 
character  of  the  Absolute,  a  primordial  form  of  being  belong- 
ing to  the  First  Cause. 

Time  and  space  according  to  the  first  form  of  religion — 
XXXV  [ I I ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

that  is  to  say,  according  to  the  first  completed  thought  ar- 
rived at  by  the  social  intelligence  of  the  race — are  illusions 
and  the  producer  of  illusions.  All  illusions  arise  in  the  primor- 
dial distinction  of  subject  and  object  which  constitutes  the 
lapse  into  consciousness  out  of  primeval  unity  which  is  not  sub- 
ject and  object.*  This  thought  of  Kapila  becomes  the  basis  of 
the  religion  of  Buddhism,  the  religion  founded  on  the  simple 
idea  of  transcendence  of  the  One  First  Cause  above  all  causahty. 
This  is  opposite  to  the  religion  of  the  Bible,  which  reveals  the 
divine  as  a  One  that  is  goodness.  Goodness  is  so  gracious  as 
to  create  and  give  independent  reality  to  nature  and  man — 
in  short,  to  make  man  able  to  sin  and  to  defy  the  First  Cause 
his  Creator.  Here  emerges  for  the  first  time  the  idea  of  sin. 
Man,  as  maya  or  illusion,  is  not  created  nor  is  he  a  creator  of 
things  or  events — his  deeds  are  only  seeming,  for  he  does  not 
possess  true  reality  himself.  But  with  the  doctrine  of  theism 
man  has  an  eternal  selfhood  given  him  and  is  responsible  for 
the  acts  of  his  will;  he  can  sin  and  repent. 

He  can  choose  the  ethical  and  form  in  himself  the  image  of 
God,  or  on  the  other  hand  he  can  resist  the  divine  and  create 
an  Inferno. 

While  theism  commands  man  to  renounce  selfishness,  pan- 
theism commands  to  renounce  selfhood. 

Theism  contains  in  it  as  a  special  prerogative  the  possibility 
of  meeting  difficulties  insoluble  to  pantheism.  It  has  solved 
the  great  difficulty  of  conceiving  a  first  cause  so  transcendent 
that  it  is  no  cause  of  the  world  and  man.  For  theism  sees  the 
necessity  of  goodness  and  righteousness  in  the  first  cause  and 
hence  finds  the  world  and  man  in  the  divine  mind.  But  it,  too, 
sees  divine  sovereignty  and  does  not  lose  that  thought  in  its 
theory  of  man  and  nature.  Nature  is  full  of  beings  that  perish, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  they  come  from  a  perfect  Creator. 
The  history  of  man  is  full  of  sin  and  rebellion  against  good- 
ness and  righteousness.  But  our  theistic  insight  knows  that  God 
is  holy;  that  he  possesses  perfect  goodness  and  righteousness. 
The  exclusive  contemplation  of  the  imperfections  of  man  and 

'Memorial   verses  of  the   Sankhya    Karika,    Nos.    XXI,    XXII, 
XXIV,  LXII,  LXIV. 

XXXV  [  T2  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

even  of  his  best  works  leads  to  the  pantheistic  denial  of  the 
world  and  to  despair  as  to  man's  salvation  before  the  sovereign 
first  cause.  The  religion  of  theism  often  lapses  toward  Orien- 
tahsm  in  its  condemnation  of  nature  and  history  as  empty 
of  all  good.  Whenever  it  has  gone  so  far  that  it  blasphemes 
the  First  Cause  by  limiting  divine  goodness,  the  Church  has 
given  a  check  to  this  tendency  and  ushered  in  an  epoch  of 
missionary  effort,  wherein  the  true  believer  leaves  off  his  ex- 
cessive practice  of  self-mortification  and  devotes  himself  like 
St.  Francis  to  the  work  of  carrying  salvation  to  the  lost.  It 
goes  out  like  St.  Dominic  to  save  the  intellect  and  to  have  not 
only  pious  hearts  but  pious  intellects  that  devote  their  lives  to  the 
study  of  the  creation,  trying  to  see  how  God  works  in  his  good- 
ness, giving  true  being  to  his  creatures,  and  lifting  them  up  into 
rational  souls  able  to  see  the  vision  of  God.^ 

The  piety  of  the  intellect  contains  in  it  also  another  possibility 
of  lapse  into  impiety  of  intellect,  namely  through  lack  of  power  to 
hold  to  the  sovereignty  of  God.  It  may  go  astray  from  the 
search  of  the  first  cause  and  set  up  secondary  causes  in  place 
of  a  first  cause.  This  is  the  opposite  danger  to  pantheism, 
which  gets  so  much  intoxicated  with  the  divine  unity  that 
it  neglects  nature  and  history,  and  discourages  intellectual 
piety,  and  loses  the  insight  into  the  revelation  of  God's  good- 
ness and  righteousness  in  the  creation  of  the  world. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  intellectual  impiety,  one  kind  that 
goes  astray  after  a  secondary  cause  in  place  of  a  First  Cause, 
and  the  other  that  passes  by  secondary  causes  as  something 
unworthy  of  the  True  First  Cause;  not  seeing  that  the  true 
First  Cause  makes  the  world  with  three  orders  of  being:  the 
lower  ministering  to  the  higher  and  the  higher  to  the  lower: 
an  inorganic  below  an  organic  realm;  and  within  the  organic 
realm  creating  the  animal  below  the  man,  and  among  the 
races  of  man  making  savages  below  civilized  peoples.  It  does 
not  see  that  in  all  these  divine  goodness  has  its  own  great  pur- 
pose— to  make  the  world  of  time  and  space  an  infinite  cradle 

^See  Goethe's  Faust,  "Scene  in  Heaven"  (Part  II,  Act  V,  scene  7), 
Pater  Profundus  and  Pater  Seraphicus. 

XXXV  [  13  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

for  the  development  of  spiritual  individuality.  The 'Christian 
God  is  not  an  abstract  One  delighting  only  in  abstract  ones, 
but  a  Creator  delighting  in  creators — commanding  true  be- 
lievers to  engage  in  the  eternal  work  of  the  First  Cause,  namely 
by  multiplying  his  creative  and  educative  work. 

Thus  from  one  or  another  form  of  impiety  of  the  intellect 
there  arise  collisions  with  the  Church  from  age  to  age. 

A  closer  and  closer  definition  of  the  dogma  arises  out  of 
the  struggle. 

One  of  the  greatest  epochs  of  struggle  in  the  Church  arose 
in  the  time  of  the  importation  of  Arabian  pantheism  into 
Spain,  and  thence  into  the  other  parts  of  Europe  by  reason  of 
resort  of  Christian  youth  to  the  medical  schools  established  by 
the  Arabs. 

The  great  commentators  on  Aristotle,  Avicenna  and  Aver- 
rhoes,  came  to  notice  and  caused  great  anxiety  by  their  inter- 
pretation of  Aristotle's  doctrine  of  the  active  Reason  (vovs 
TTOLiTjTLKos) y  which  they  held  to  exist  only  in  God;  and  upon  the 
death  of  the  individual,  the  passive  soul  of  reason  (vov<; 
TraOrjTLKO';)^  which  is  conceived  by  them  as  a  temporary  manifes- 
tation of  the  active  Reason,  withdrew  and  was  absorbed  into 
the  deity,  losing  its  individual  being. 

To  Christianity  the  doctrine  of  individual  immortality  is 
vital.  Without  it  the  world  view  of  the  Church  would  suffer 
dissolution. 

The  publication  of  the  pantheistic  version  of  Aristotle  forced 
Christian  scholars  to  study  seriously  the  Greek  philosophy. 
Piety  of  the  heart  and  piety  of  the  will  did  not  suffice.  Piety 
of  the  intellect  was  needed,  and  it  came  in  a  series  of  thinkers 
who  wrote  the  expositions  of  Christian  theology  of  which  the 
Summa  Theologice  of  Thomas  Aquinas  is  the  great  exemplar. 
Piety  of  the  intellect  overcame  the  dangers  of  rehgious  heresy. 

After  an  epoch  of  rapid  philosophical  development — a  period 
of  a  too  exclusive  devotion  to  the  piety  of  the  intellect — there 
came  a  decadence  in  the  piety  of  the  will  and  the  piety  of  the 
heart,  and  when  this  began  to  have  its  visible  effects  in  the  neg- 
lect of  the  secular  interests  of  the  Church  a  reaction  set  in,  which 
culminated  in  the  triumoh  of  the  pestilent  doctrine  of  nominal- 
XXXV  [ 14 ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

ism  through  the  dialectic  skill  of  William  of  Occam,  and  as  a 
consequence  the  great  philosophy  of  Saint  Thomas  of  Aquino 
fell  into  neglect.  But  this  gave  an  opportunity  for  the  triumph 
of  the  study  of  secondary  causes.  Natural  science  began  new 
inventories  of  nature  and  new  studies  of  mind  which  set  forth 
theories  almost  mechanical  in  their  results. 

With  nominahsm  no  speculative  investigations  into  the 
nature  of  a  first  cause  are  permissible.  All  that  is  left  is  an 
empirical  study  of  things  and  events — an  inventory  and  a 
classification;  theories  of  forces;  mechanical  composition  and 
decomposition  of  bodies;  the  transformation  of  sensations  into 
ideas.  Ideas  were  regarded  as  of  the  nature  of  mere  opinions 
and  of  less  truth  than  the  sensations  which  furnished  the  only 
vivid  certainty  esteemed  to  be  of  real  worth. 

There  is  bound  to  arise  a  reaction  against  religious  authority 
whenever  the  Church  itself  neglects  the  exposition  of  the  in- 
tellectual insights  which  are  the  most  vital  part  of  its  contribu- 
tion to  civilization.  For  if  the  Christian  world  view  is  ren- 
dered untenable,  the  piety  of  the  will  and  the  piety  of  the  heart 
will  soon  decay. 

A  series  of  skeptical  reactions  not  only  against  the  Church 
but  against  the  authority  of  the  State  have  taken  place,  as  a 
result  of  this  movement  away  from  theology  and  toward  an 
exclusive  study  of  secondary  causes. 

The  German  word  Aujkldrung,  or  clearing-up  of  the  mind, 
has  become  more  or  less  familiar  to  us  as  including  the  phases 
of  this  revolt  against  authority. 

It  holds  to  the  study  of  secondary  causes  and  the  neglect  of 
the  First  Cause. 

There  has  been  only  one  great  Aujkldrung,  the  French 
Revolution,  which  swept  together  all  the  negative  tendencies 
into  one  movement  of  destruction  to  Church  and  State.  But 
there  are  numerous,  very  numerous  minor  movements.  In 
every  department  its  influence  is  felt. 

In  the  last  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  Herbert  Spencer 
occupied,  and  still  occupies,  much  attention.  It  is  interesting 
to  note  that  in  his  generalizations  of  science  he  adopted  the 
XXXV  [  15  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

agnostic  view  of  his  system  from  Hamilton  and  Mansell. 
Back  of  that  view  is  Hume's  skepticism,  especially  with  regard 
to  the  category  of  causaHty,  and  it  would  not  be  difficult  to 
trace  his  extreme  nominalism  to  the  stream  of  influence  that 
William  of  Occam  set  flowing  within  the  Church. 

Herbert  Spencer's  theory  of  the  world  resembles  in  a  marked 
manner  the  doctrine  of  the  Oriental  mind  that  the  world  pro- 
cess finally  comes  to  nothing.  One  after  another,  things  and 
events  appear  and  then  vanish  again,  and  all  remains  as  at 
first.^  It  is  a  Sisyphus  movement  with  no  permanent  outcome 
and  no  worthy  result.  It  begins  with  the  homogeneous,  un- 
differentiated condition  of  matter  and  moves  toward  hetero- 

^  "Evolution,"  says  Spencer,  in  that  concise  statement  of  his 
system  found  in  his  Autobiography,  vol.  i,  p.  650-652,  "Evolution  .  .  • 
is  a  movement  (6)  not  simply  from  homogeneity  to  heterogeneity, 
but  from  an  indefinite  homogeneity  to  a  definite  heterogeneity; 
and  this  trait  of  increasing  definiteness,  which  accompanies  the  trait 
of  increasing  heterogeneity,  is,  like  it,  exhibited  in  the  totality  of 
things  and  in  all  its  divisions  and  subdivisions  down  to  the  minutest. 
(7)  Along  with  this  redistribution  of  the  matter  composing  an  evolving 
aggregate,  there  goes  on  a  redistribution  of  the  retained  motion  of 
its  components  in  relation  to  one  another;  this  also  becomes,  step 
by  step,  more  definitely  heterogeneous.  (13)  Dissolution  is  the 
counter-change  which  sooner  or  later  every  evolved  aggregate  under- 
goes. Remaining  exposed  to  surrounding  forces  that  are  unequili- 
briated,  each  aggregate  is  ever  liable  to  be  dissipated  by  the  increase, 
gradual  or  sudden,  of  its  contained  motion;  and  its  dissipation, 
quickly  undergone  by  bodies  lately  animate,  and  slowly  undergone 
by  inanimate  masses,  remains  to  be  undergone  at  an  indefinitely 
remote  period  by  each  planetary  and  stellar  mass,  which  since  an 
indefinitely  distant  period  in  the  past  has  been  slowly  evolving,  the 
cycle  of  its  transformations  being  thus  completed.  (14)  This  rhythm 
of  evolution  and  dissolution,  completing  itself  during  short  periods 
in  small  aggregates,  and  in  the  vast  aggregates  distributed  through 
space  completing  itself  in  periods  which  are  immeasurable  by  human 
thoughV,  is,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  universal  and  eternal — each  alter- 
nating phase  of  the  process  predominating,  now  in  this  region  of 
space  and  now  in  that,  as  local  conditions  determine.  (16)  That 
which  persists,  unchanging  in  quantity  but  ever  changing  in  form, 
under  these  sensible  appearances  which  the  Universe  presents  to 
us,  transcends  human  knowledge  and  conception — is  an  unknown 
and  unknowable  Power,  which  we  are  obliged  to  recognize  as  without 
limit  in  space  and  without  beginning  or  end  in  time." 

x::xv  [  16  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

geneity,  individuality,  and  complexity  of  function.  Evolution 
is  this  process  of  individualization.  But  all  evolution  is  to  be 
followed  by  dissolution,  a  return  to  the  chaotic  and  unindividual- 
ized  state  of  the  homogeneous  which  Spencer  considered  to  be 
unstable  and,  so  to  speak,  impelled  to  evolution,  but  which 
in  the  end  becomes  unstable  again  and  seeks  its  equilibrium 
in  chaos. 

One  of  the  chief  leaders  of  the  Aujkldrung  has  thus  returned 
to  Orientalism,  and  his  infinite  and  eternal  is  only  an  unknown 
and  unknowable  power — he  calls  it  "unknown  and  unknow- 
able, "  though  he  let  us  clearly  see  that  there  is  a  shuttle  motion 
produced  by  it  out  of  chaos  into  individuality,  and  from  in- 
dividuality back  again  into  chaos. 

A  creative  goodness  which  lifts  into  being  an  infinity  of  other 
selves  of  animals  and  men,  only  to  swallow  them  up  again  by 
a  jealous  reaction,  drawing  them  down  into  the  homogeneous 
ocean  of  chaotic  matter,  deserves  rather  to  be  called,  as  Plato 
in  the  TimcEUs,  and  Aristotle  in  his  Metaphysics  called  it,  envy 
and  jealousy  {(jyOoj^o';),  a  quality  of  mind  which  they  thought 
not  possible  to  find  in  the  idea  of  God  as  Creator. 

The  only  effective  counter-movement  against  the  Aujkldrung 
is  the  return  to  a  study  of  the  First  Cause. 

This  does  not  mean  the  neglect  of  secondary  causes,  but  their 
proper  adjustment.  It  is  an  application  of  the  great  results 
of  religious  thought — a  social  institutional  kind  of  thinking 
that  should  be  gone  over  by  every  individual  for  his  enlighten- 
ment. The  Church  should  elaborate  its  application  of  the 
thought  of  the  First  Cause  to  all  secondary  causes,  showing  in 
each  case  how  the  divine  goodness  connects  and  explains 
the  entire  movement  from  the  mechanical  to  the  chemical, 
and  from  these  to  the  crystal,  the  plant,  the  animal,  and  to 
man. 

I  review,  in  concluding  my  paper,  the  line  of  argument  based 
on  the  second  or  causal  aspect  of  experience : 

I.  The   first   rcHgious   step   is  taken  when  all  secondary 
causes  are    aggregated  into  one  group    and  included  in  the 
world  order  in  what  we  have  called  the  first  pole  of  experi- 
ence.    Ancestor  worship  with  its  infinite  series  of  finite  spirits 
XXXV  [  17  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

belongs  only  to  a  world  order.  A  true  originating  causality, 
a  first  cause,  belongs  to  a  second  and  higher  order,  to  a  self- 
determining  or  originating  order  of  being  which  transcends 
the  world  of  things  and  events;  all  things  and  events  depending 
upon  a  being  derived  from  beyond,  and  not  in  themselves 
possessing  self -existence ;  and  the  true  second  order  possessing 
independence,  self -existence,  and  the  power  to  produce  duality 
by  consciousness,  will,  or  some  other  form  of  self-determina- 
tion. 

2.  The  first  thinking  of  this  transcendent  being  becomes 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  its  transcendence  or  sover- 
eignty over  the  first  order.  While  the  first  order  is  dependent 
and  must  derive  its  support,  all  that  it  has,  from  a  higher  order 
of  being,  the  second  order  is  independent  and  can  exist  by 
itself.  The  religious  contemplation  is  absorbed  in  this  fact 
of  independence  or  transcendence;  it  searches  the  origin  of  the 
dependent  order  in  the  sovereignty  of  the  independent  order; 
but  it  does  not  find  at  first,  in  the  independent,  the  motive  for 
the  dependent.  It  halts  in  the  thought  of  transcendence  and 
denies  reahty  to  the  world  of  things  and  events;  it  becomes 
pantheism  or  Orientalism;  it  denies  creatorship  in  the  first 
principle. 

3.  The  result  of  the  first  insight  into  the  presupposition  of 
dependent  being  has  reached  an  independent  being  which 
is  devoid  of  true  causality  and  which  does  not  impart  its  true 
being  to  a  derived  world;  this  is  pantheism.  But,  again,  this 
result  contradicts  the  presupposition  on  which  the  insight  into 
the  second  order  is  based.  For  unless  there  is  presupposed  a 
true  originating  causality,  a  self-determining  One,  the  higher 
order  of  being  exists  only  in  itself  and  not  for  itself ;  its  caus- 
ality is  not  real  to  itself;  if  its  causality  produces  only  a 
world  of  phenomenality  and  illusion,  then  the  result  of  its 
causality  is  only  to  reveal  to  the  independent  being  its  own 
inefficiency  as  a  cause;  it  is  a  cause  which  cannot  produce 
anything  real,  hence  it  is  not  a  true  cause. 

4.  The  history  of  the  religions  of  Asia  is  a  history  of  the 
discovery  of  the  self-contradictions  of  pantheism — of  a  true 
causal  being  which  does  not  truly  cause.     It  is  also  a  series 

XXXV  [  18  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

of  attempted  solutions  to  introduce  true  causality  without 
destroying  the  transcendence  or  sovereignty  of  the  First  Cause. 
For  to  introduce  any  finite  motive,  that  is  to  say,  any  motive 
depending  upon  another  underived  being,  would  destroy  the 
perfection  of  the  first  original  cause  and  reduce  it  to  a  secondary 
cause  and  thus  throw  back  the  entire  investigation  to  the  stage 
of  ancestor  worship.  The  escape  from  this  dilemma,  which 
offers  a  choice  between  the  destruction  of  the  imperfect  world 
and  the  destruction  of  the  perfect  world,  or  its  renunciation  by 
philosophic  thought,  is  found  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Logos 
and  its  complete  exposition  in  the  Christian  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity. 

5.  True  causahty  is  the  self -revelation  of  the  highest  order 
of  being.  But  it  does  not  in  its  pure  self-determination  reach 
secondary  causes.  Its  action  in  itself  is  the  revelation  of  a 
perfect  in  a  perfect;  this  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Logos.  Per- 
fect self-determination  results  in  perfect  revelation  in  another  ; 
an  eternal  object  becomes  an  eternal  subject  whose  thinking 
and  willing  are  one,  and  hence  goodness  and  righteousness. 
Through  this  thought  it  is  explained  how  the  primary  causality 
in  the  Logos  becomes  secondary  causality  through  the  con- 
templation of  goodness  and  righteousness  as  the  inner  essence  of 
causality. 

6.  The  Christian  view  of  the  world,  therefore,  does  not  com- 
promise its  idea  of  the  transcendency  or  sovereignty  of  the 
First  Cause,  but  preserves  it  perfectly  and  at  the  same  time  in- 
troduces transcendency  into  the  world  order  by  the  doctrine 
of  the  immortality,  freedom,  and  responsibility  of  the  human 
soul,  who  through  rehgious  insight  interprets  the  entire  world 
order  as  a  process  of  creation  and  salvation;  the  process  of 
creating  souls  with  independent  individuahty  and  infinite 
powers  of  self-development  in  will  and  intellect,  in  goodness 
and  righteousness.  Consciousness  proceeds  through  science 
and  philosophy  and  theology  everlastingly  toward  a  completer 
comprehension  of  the  divine  method  of  creation  of  real  being, 
that  is  to  say,  of  moral  beings  through  the  inorganic  and  the 
organic  processes  in  time  and  space  and  through  the  discipline 
of  moral  beings  by  means  of  their  historic  experience  of  life. 

XXXV  [  19  ] 


CHRISTIANITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

This  development  of  consciousness  makes  possible  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  human  will  with  the  divine  will.  This  is  the  ulti- 
mate cause  presupposed  by  secondary  causation.  It  is  the 
second  aspect  of  experience. 

7.  This  view  of  the  world  elevates  it  into  the  highest  signifi- 
cance, not  through  its  secondary  causes,  but  through  its  first 
cause  as  the  divine  self- activity  in  its  goodness  and  righteous- 
ness.    It  is  infinite  grace. 

8.  This  view  of  the  world  makes  secondary  causes  signifi- 
cant in  the  light  of  the  First  Cause.  It  makes  the  history  of 
nature  thus  interpreted  a  part  of  the  book  of  divine  revela- 
tion. 

9.  With  the  pantheistic  interpretation,  the  divine  purpose 
disappears  from  the  realm  of  secondary  causes,  and  with  this 
there  vanishes  all  true  causality  and  high  significance  to  science. 
For  the  objects  of  science,  namely,  material  nature  and  human 
history,  when  separated  from  the  divine  and  devoid  of  a  share 
in  the  causal  activity  of  a  transcendent  being  who  is  a  real 
cause,  become  a  chaos  of  illusion,  the  East  Indian  Maya. 

10.  In  the  ruder  forms  of  religion,  the  varieties  of  ancestor 
worship  and  fetichism,  science  has  no  place,  because  all  sec- 
ondary causes  become  capricious  activities  of  spiritual  beings 
not  subordinated  to  a  first  principle  of  goodness  and  righteous- 
ness. 

11.  It  follows  from  these  considerations  that  social  culture 
in  the  form  of  the  Church  and  the  School  as  independent  in- 
stitutions becomes  possible  only  on  the  basis  of  the  religious 
world  view  of  Christianity;  and  that  the  perennial  continuance 
of  the  world  view  of  Christianity  through  the  special  form  of 
social  culture  which  belongs  to  the  Church  is  a  necessary  con- 
dition presupposed  bv  the  forms  of  social  culture  intrusted  to 
the  School. 


XXXV  [ 20  ] 


XXXVI 


THE  MYSTERIES 

"WHAT  HAS   PSYCHICAL  RESEARCH 
ACCOMPLISHED?'* 

BY 

WILLIAM  F.  BARRETT 

PRESIDENT   OP   THE    BRITISH    SOCIETY    FOR    PSYCHICAL    RESEARCH 


T/f/^E,  approach  the  borderland  of  fainter  knowledge.  Re- 
ligion  has  always  had  Superstition  as  a  handmaid, 
and,  following  somewhere  in  her  train,  come  vaguer,  immaterial 
things,  magic  and  mystery,  half -hinted  communications  with 
an  unseen  world,  the  immaterial  made  manifest  and  visible  in 
matter.  There  was  a  day  not  over  long  ago  when  we  thought 
we  could  afford  to  laugh  at  all  these  ^^ manifestations,''^  when 
most  of  us  took  our  ground  in  fancied  security  on  the  assertion 
that  all  matter  and  all  life  were  subject  solely  to  material  laws, 
that  spiritualism  was  to  be  classed  with  the  ghost  stories  of  our 
childhood,  that  thought  trans ferrence  was  on  a  par  with  '^sleight- 
of-hand^^  performances  upon  the  stage,  and  that  mesmerism  was 
but  another  name  for  fraud.  In  brief,  the  "influence  of  mind 
on  matter''^  was  dismissed  as  an  empty  form  of  words,  a  figure 
of  speech  wholly  dissociate  from  physical  fact.  That  day  has 
gone  by.  There  is  something  behind  all  these  studies  of  the  oc- 
cult, something  toward  which  earnest  scientific  investigation  is 
dimly  reaching.  Perhaps  that  weird  ''subconscious  self'  of 
which  we  grow  dimly  aware  is  becoming  more  developed,  more 
positively  assertive.  Perhaps  that  extra  "  sixth  sense,"  of  which 
our  poets  have  dreamed  and  prophesied,  begins  to  stir  within  us. 
Such  suggestions,  of  course,  are  still  but  fantasies,  yet  there  is 
something  underlying  them,  something  as  yet  inexplicable,  but 
XXXVI  [  I  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

inexorable,  inevitable.  Science  no  longer  laughs  at  psychical 
research,  nor  can  any  intelligent  man  afford  to  do  so.  Rather 
must  we  hold  ourselves  alert,  receptive,  eager  to  seize  upon  and 
welcome  the  kernel  oj  truth  when  it  can  at  last  be  separated 
from  the  husk  oj  falsehood  and  deception  in  which  it  has  been  too 
long  enwrapped.  What  has  so  far  been  done  to  separate  husk 
and  kernel  is  here  pointed  out  for  us  by  Professor  Barrett, 
former  President  of  the  English  "  Society  for  Psychical  Research.'^ 
Mr.  Barrett  is  no  amateur  investigator,  but  a  leading  educator 
of  distinguished  reputation,  Professor  of  Physics  in  the  Royal 
College  of  Science,  Dublin. 

I  AM  sometimes  asked  what  our  Society  has  already 
achieved,  what  it  has  done  to  justify  its  existence  ?  The  reply 
to  this  is  found  in  the  eighteen  closely  printed  volumes  of  our 
Proceedhigs,  and  the  eleven  volumes  of  our  Journal,  containing 
an  immense  mass  of  evidence,  the  record  of  carefully  sifted 
observations  or  of  stringent  experiments.  These  form  a  store- 
house of  material  which  we  have  every  reason  to  believe  will 
become  increasingly  valuable  to  students  of  both  psychology 
and  philosophy  in  the  not  distant  future.  Unquestionably  a 
change  of  opinion  is  gradually  coming  about  through  the  work 
of  our  Society.  The  widespread  and  unreasoning  prejudice 
which  25  years  ago  existed  against  all  psychical  inquiry  is 
breaking  down.  This  is  seen  in  the  list  of  distinguished  men 
who  have  become  members  of  our  Society,  and  here  I  desire  to 
welcome  one  of  our  great  English  savants,  a  man  of  European 
reputation,  who  has  recently  joined  our  ranks,  and  this  coinci- 
dently  with  his  election  to  the  high  position  of  joint  honorary 
secretary  to  the  Royal  Society. 

But  although  there  is  a  more  open  mind  on  the  part  of  science 
toward  psychical  research,  it  must  be  confessed  it  is  still  looked 
at  somewhat  askance  by  the  leaders  and  organs  of  official 
science.  It  is  worth  a  moment's  attention  to  consider  why  this 
should  be.  No  one  asserts  that  the  knowledge  we  are  seeking 
to  obtain  is  unimportant,  for,  as  the  learned  Dr.  Glanville  said 
200  years  ago  about  similar  subjects  to  those  we  are  studying: 
** These  things  relate  to  our  biggest  interests;  if  established, 

XXXVI  [  2  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

they  secure  some  of  the  outworks  of  reHgion."  Nor,  so  far  as 
I  know,  docs  any  one  assert  we  are  hasty  and  incautious,  or 
unscientific  in  our  method  of  investigation.  No  doubt  one 
reason  for  the  present  attitude  of  official  science  toward  us 
has  been  the  prevalence  and  paralyzing  influence  of  a  material- 
istic philosophy,  which  denies  the  possibility  of  mind  without 
a  material  brain,  or  of  any  means  of  access  from  other  minds 
to  our  mind  except  through  the  recognized  channels  of  sen- 
sation. Both  these  propositions  are  of  course  denied  by  our 
religious  teachers,  who  assert  that  a  spiritual  world  does  exist, 
and  that  the  inspired  writings  were  given  supersensuously 
to  man.  Nevertheless,  as  a  body,  though  with  some  notable 
exceptions,  even  they  do  not  welcome  us  with  open  arms. 
The  common  ground  and  official  view  of  both  science  and 
religion  are  that  all  extension  to  our  existing  knowledge  in 
their  respective  departments  can  only  come  through  the  channels 
recognized  by  each;  in  the  one  case  the  channel  is  bounded 
by  the  five  senses,  and  in  the  other  case  it  is  that  sanctioned 
by  authority.  We  must  all  admit  that  even  unconsciously 
authority  has  a  large  share  in  moulding  our  convictions  and 
determining  our  conduct ;  in  fact,  we  cannot  emancipate  our- 
selves from  its  subtle  influence.  As  a  rule  this  is  beneficial, 
unless  it  can  be  shown  that  authority  is  untrustworthy  ;  but 
the  attempt  to  prove  that  it  is  so  is  sure  to  be  an  ungracious 
and  difficult  task,  and  almost  certain  to  bring  odium  to  bear 
upon  those  who,  if  they  eventually  prove  to  be  right,  are  in  a 
subsequent  generation  hailed  as  benefactors  of  the  race. 

Some  years  ago  that  most  learned  man,  the  late  Professor 
von  Helmholtz,  visited  Dublin.  I  had  then  recently  pubhshed 
a  paper,  giving  for  the  first  time  prima  jade  evidence  of  some- 
thing new  to  science,  called  thought  transferrence,  now  known 
as  telepathy.  Helmholtz,  who  was  a  great  physiologist  as  well 
as  physicist,  had  some  conversation  with  me  on  the  subject,  and 
he  ended  by  saying:  "I  cannot  believe  it.  Neither  the  testi- 
mony of  all  the  Fellows  of  the  Royal  Society,  nor  even  the 
evidence  of  my  own  senses,  would  lead  me  to  believe  in  the 
transmission  of  thought  from  one  person  to  another  indepen- 
dently of  the  recognized  channels  of  sensation.  It  is  clearly 
XXXVI  [ 3 ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

impossible."  The  respect  that  is  due  to  so  great  a  man  renders 
it  necessary  to  show  in  a  few  words  why  this  statement  (one  that 
used  to  be  common  enough)  is  wholly  indefensible.  First,  the 
phenomena  in  question,  and  all  the  phenomena  \yithin  the  scope 
of  our  Society,  are  not  contradictions,  but  merely  extensions  of 
our  existing  knowledge;  they  may  be  strange  and  inexplicable, 
but  that  merely  indicates  that  the  evidence  in  support  of  the 
new  facts  must  be  recognized  as  adequate.  As  Laplace  long 
ago  said  in  his  **  Theory  of  Probabihtics" :  ''We  are  so  far  from 
knowing  all  the  agents  of  nature,  and  their  various  modes  of 
action,  that  it  would  not  be  philosophical  to  deny  any  phenom- 
ena merely  because  in  the  actual  state  of  our  knowledge  they 
are  inexplicable.  This  only  ought  we  to  do — in  proportion  to 
the  difficulty  there  seems  to  be  in  admitting  the  facts,  should 
be  the  scrupulous  attention  we  bestow  on  their  examination."^ 
That  this  is  the  true  spirit  may  be  seen  from  the  recent  dis- 
coveries in  connection  with  radium.  These  facts  appeared  even 
to  contradict  some  of  our  previous  knowledge.  We  always 
thought  of  an  atom,  as  Lucretius  did,  "strong  in  solid  single- 
ness," as  the  most  immutable  and  immortal  thing  in  the  physi- 
cal universe.  Now  it  appears  to  be  capable  of  disintegration 
and  transmutation,  and  the  views  of  the  alchemists  are  begin- 
ning to  revive:  soon  we  may  be  looking  for  the  "philosopher's 
stone" — the  substance  that  by  its  presence  enables  the  trans- 
mutation of  other  heavy  atoms  to  come  about.  Thus  does  the 
whirligig  of  time  bring  its  revenges. 

But  to  return.  There  is  another  fallacy  in  the  scientific  view 
expressed  by  Hclmholtz.  He  said,  as  many  do,  that  nothing 
could  make  him  believe  in  such  phenomena.  But  beHef  is  not 
a  voluntary  act  of  the  mind,  it  cannot  be  given  or  withheld  at 
pleasure;  it  is,  obviously,  an  involuntary  state,  which  follows  if 
our  judgment  considers  the  evidence  adduced  adequate  and 
conclusive.  We  can,  of  course,  as  many  do,  refuse  to  Hsten  to 
the  evidence ;  and  it  is  worth  noticing  that  in  all  our  minds  there 
is  a  tendency  to  repel  the  intrusion  of  any  ideas  unrelated  to  our 
usual  habits  of  thought  and  which  therefore  involve  an  uncom- 
fortable dislocation  of  our  mind:  so  that  attention  to  evidence 
*  Laplace,  Theorie  analytique  des  Prohabilites,  Introd.,  p.  43. 
XXXVI  [  4  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

of  this  character  is  a  difficult  act  of  self-conquest.  Hence  every 
new  departure  in  thought  has  to  encounter  great  aberrations 
of  mind.  But  when  attention  is  given,  and  the  evidence 
considered  adequate,  it  is  sheer  nonsense  to  say  you  won't 
believe  it. 

Is  there  any  other  ground  why  science  should  not  ungrudg- 
ingly recognize  the  evidence  so  amply  given  in  our  Proceed- 
ings? I  have  recently  made  inquiries  among  some  of  my 
scientific  friends  who  stand  aloof  from  us,  to  know  what  is 
their  reason  for  so  doing.  Of  course  life  is  short,  the  claim  of 
each  particular  branch  of  scientific  investigation  becomes  in- 
creasingly exacting,  and  but  few  have  time  to  consider  the 
evidence.  This  is  obvious,  but  why  do  they  shrug  their  shoul- 
ders when  you  mention,  say,  telepathy,  or  the  faculty  of  dous- 
ing? Their  attitude  reminds  me  of  an  anecdote  told  by  that 
remarkable  woman,  Miss  Caroline  Fox,  and  which  I  think 
is  mentioned  in  the  memorials  of  her  life.  The  charming  resi- 
dence of  Miss  Fox  in  Cornwall  was  the  meeting  ground  of 
many  famous  men  of  the  last  generation.  On  one  occasion  that 
great  Irishman,  Sir  W.  Rowan  Hamilton,  there  met  Sir  G. 
Airy,  then  Astronomer-Royal.  Hamilton  had  just  pub- 
lished his  famous  mathematical  discovery  of  quaternions,  and 
was,  I  believe,  explaining  it  to  Airy.  After  a  short  time  Airy 
said,  "I  cannot  see  it  at  all."  Hamilton  replied,  ''I  have  been 
investigating  the  matter  closely  for  many  months,  and  I  am  cer- 
tain of  its  truth."  "  Oh,"  rejoined  Airy,  ''  I  have  been  thinking 
over  it  for  the  last  two  or  three  minutes,  and  there  is  nothing  in 
it."  This  is  why  some  of  our  scientific  friends  shrug  their 
shoulders  at  our  researches.  They  feel  competent,  after  a  few 
minutes'  consideration,  to  reject  conclusions  which  may  have 
cost  us  years  of  investigation. 

In  fact,  nine-tenths  of  the  positive  opinions  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  hear  about  psychical  research  are  given  judicially. 
That  is,  the  objector  speaks  of  his  conclusions  as  positively  as  if 
it  were  his  office  to  know  the  truth,  and  implies  that  any  opposi- 
tion is  a  thing  for  him  to  judge  of.  ''He  is  annihilated,"  as 
Professor  De  Morgan  pointed  out  some  time  ago,  "by  being 
reduced,  no  matter  how  courteously,  from  judge  to  counsel 
XXXVI  [  5  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

But  this  is  what  must  be  done.  The  jurisdiction  must  be  denied. 
The  great  art  is  not  to  pull  him  off  the  bench  without  ceremony, 
but  to  pull  the  bench  from  under  him,  without  his  exactly  seeing 
how  he  came  to  tumble,  and  without  proceeding  to  sit  upon  it 
yourself." 

Inquiry  among  my  scientific  friends  has  shown  me  that  the 
root  of  much,  perhaps  most,  of  the  scientific  skepticism  toward 
our  work  is  not  because  the  phenomena  arc  startling  or  inex- 
pHcable,  but  because  they  cannot  be  repeated  at  pleasure;  hence 
so  very  few  scientific  men  have  the  opportunity  of  verifying  the 
observations  some  of  us  have  made.  They  do  not  doubt  our 
good  faith,  but  they  think  we  may  have  been  mistaken  in  our 
conclusions,  and  until  we  can  reproduce  the  phenomena  before 
them  they  feel  justified  in  distrusting  our  rcsuks.  This  might 
well  give  ground  for  suspense  of  judgment,  but  surely  not  for 
any  hostile  attitude.  It  is,  of  course,  most  desirable  to  be  able 
to  repeat  our  experiments  at  pleasure,  but  the  very  nature  of  our 
inquiry  precludes  this.  We  do  not  refuse  to  believe  in  the  fall 
of  meteoric  stones  unless  we  can  see  one  falling.  We  may 
require  a  good  deal  of  well-attested  evidence  for  their  fall,  but 
once  the  fact  is  estabhshed  the  stringency  of  the  evidence 
demanded  immediately  relaxes.  Now,  unquestionably  there 
are  at  present  more  capable  witnesses  who  can  speak  from  per- 
sonal and  careful  inquiry  as  to  the  fact  of  telepathy,  or  of  what 
is  called  spiritualistic  phenomena,  than  there  are  persons  living 
who  can  testify  to  having  seen  the  actual  fall  from  space  of 
meteoric  stones. 

The  fact  is,  our  scientific  friends  do  not  realize  the  profound 
difference  that  exists  between  the  conditions  of  a  physical  and 
of  a  psychical  experiment.  We  know  what  conditions  are 
requisite  in  the  former  case,  we  do  not  know  what  they  arc  in 
the  latter,  and  hence  the  difficulty  of  all  psychical  investigation 
and  the  uncertainty  of  the  reproduction  of  any  given  phe- 
nomenon. 

A  moment's  consideration  shows  that  the  demand  made  upon 
us  by  science  for  the  demonstration  at  any  moment  of  a  par- 
ticular psychical  phenomenon   is  inconsistent   with  the  very 
XXXVI  [  6  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

object  of  our  inquiry.  Psychical  experiments  depend  on  the 
mental  state  of  the  subject;  you  may  tell  a  person  to  do  some- 
thing, but  whether  he  does  it  or  not  depends  on  the  person 
addressed.  Physical  experiments  are  independent  of  our  voli- 
tion; a  magnet  attracts  iron,  or  sets  itself  in  the  magnetic 
meridian,  irrespective  of  our  mental  condition.  This  obvious 
difference  between  the  two  sets  of  phenomena  is  constantly 
overlooked.  Physical  science  excludes  from  its  survey  the  ele- 
ment of  personality,  with  which  we  have  to  deal  and  over  which 
we  have  little  or  no  control.  It  regards  all  phenomena  as 
strictly  impersonal,  and  finds  abundant  field  for  investigation 
within  the  narrow  limits  it  has  marked  out  for  itself:  these 
things  it  regards  as  real,  the  rest  as  shadowy.  The  truth  is, 
of  course,  exactly  the  reverse.  The  reality  of  which  we  arc 
conscious  is  our  self,  our  personality.  It  is  the  phenomena  of 
external  nature  which  are  shadowy;  shadows  cast  by  some 
reality  of  which  our  senses  tell  us  absolutely  nothing. 

There  is,  however,  no  reason  why  the  methods  so  success- 
fully pursued  by  science  should  not  also  be  pursued  in  the  study 
of  the  complex  and  shifting  phenomena  of  human  personality. 
Now,  this  is  precisely  the  object  of  our  Society — the  accurate 
investigation  of  that  wide  range  of  obscure  but  wonderful 
powers  included  within  the  mysterious  thing  we  call  our  self. 
Albeit  we  are  but  at  the  beginning  of  a  task  so  vast  that  it  may, 
in  time  to  come,  make  all  the  discoveries  of  physical  science 
seem  trivial,  all  its  labors  seem  insignificant  in  comparison 
with  the  stupendous  problems  that  are  before  us. 

We  need,  therefore,  much  more  experimental  evidence  in 
every  department  of  our  work.  So  long  ago  as  1876,  in  a  paper 
read  before  the  British  Association  in  that  year,  I  stated  that 
before  science  could  attack  with  any  hope  of  success  the  inves- 
tigation of  alleged  spiritualistic  phenomena,  we  must  know 
whether  definite  ideas  can  unconsciously  be  communicated  from 
one  person  to  another :  whether  such  a  thing  as  thought  trans- 
ferrence  does  really  exist.  Evidence  was  adduced  in  favor  of 
this  hypothesis.  We  have  done  much  since  then,  but  much 
remains  to  be  done  before  telepathy  can  take  its  place  as  an 
accepted  axiom  of  scientific  knowledge. 
XXXVI  [  7  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

There  is  one  question  in  regard  to  telepathy  and  similar 
psychical  phenomena  which  is  likely  to  remain  an  outstanding 
difficulty.  By  what  process  can  one  mind  affect  another  at  a 
distance?  Physical  science  teaches  us  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  "action  at  a  distance."  Energy  at  a  distance  reaches 
us  either  by  the  translation  of  matter  through  space,  like  a 
flying  bullet,  which  carries  the  energy;  or  by  the  intermediary 
action  of  some  medium,  like  the  transmission  of  sound-bearing 
waves  through  the  air,  or  of  luminiferous  waves  through  the 
ether,  the  energy  being  handed  on  from  wave  to  wave.  We 
may  talk  of  brain  waves,  but  that  is  only  unscientific  talk;  we 
know  of  nothing  of  the  kind.  Neither  do  we  know  how  gravi- 
tation acts  across  space :  by  what  means  such  tremendous  forces 
as  bind  the  solar  system  together  are  either  exerted  or  trans- 
mitted we  know  absolutely  nothing.  We  don't  talk  of  gravita- 
tion waves,  we  wait  for  further  knowledge  on  this  mysterious 
problem;  and  in  like  manner  we  must  patiently  wait  for  more 
light  on  the  mode  of  transmission  of  thought  through  space. 
It  may  well  be  that  thought  transcends  both  matter  and  space, 
and  has  no  relation  to  either;  that  mass,  space,  and  time  may 
only  be  but  the  mental  symbols  we  form  of  our  present 
material  system,  and  have  no  ultimate  reality  in  themselves. 

Another  question  is  as  follows:  May  not  the  uncertainty 
and  difficulty  of  our  experiments  in  thought  transf  errence  partly 
arise  from  the  fact  that  we  are  not  going  to  work  the  right 
way  ?  We  try  to  obtain  evidence  of  the  transmission  of  a  word 
or  idea  through  some  conscious  and  voluntary  act  on  the  part  of 
the  percipient.  We  wait  for  a  verbal  or  written  response.  Is 
not  this  a  mistake  ?  Ought  we  not  rather  to  seek  for  evidence  of 
thought  transf  errence  in  the  region  of  the  subconscious  life? 
I  believe  in  the  case  of  both  agent  and  percipient  the  con- 
scious will  plays  only  a  secondary  part.  This  is  also  true,  I 
think,  in  all  cases  of  suggestion,  and  of  the  therapeutic  effect  of 
suggestion.  It  is  notably  seen  in  the  cures  wrought  by  what  is 
known  as  Christian  Science.  I  happen  to  have  had  occasion  to 
study  these  somewhat  carefully  of  late,  and  undoubtedly  re- 
markal)le  cures  are  effected,  it  may  be  by  suggestion,  but  with- 
out the  usual  suggestive  treatment;  the  only  formula  is  the 
XXXVI  [  8  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

"Allncss  of  God"  and  the  "non-existence  of  disease."  But 
the  heahng  processes  are  set  going  by  a  purely  subconscious 
act.  And  so  in  telepathy,  we  need  to  hand  over  the  whole  mat- 
ter to  the  subliminal  activities.  The  difficulty  is  how  to  do  this. 
Hypnosis  is  one  way.  And  in  the  ordinary  waking  state  the 
agent,  who  makes  the  suggestion  or  transmits  the  idea,  would, 
I  believe,  do  so  more  effectively  if,  after  the  intention  had 
soaked  into  his  mind,  he  left  it  alone,  so  far  as  any  conscious 
effort  was  concerned.  And  the  percipient  should  be  as  passive 
as  possible,  make  no  effort  to  guess  the  word,  but  allow  the  per- 
ception to  reveal  itself  through  some  involuntary  action.  Auto- 
matic writing  would  be  the  most  effective,  but  that  is  not  very 
common;  the  twisting  of  the  forked  dousing  twig  might  be 
utilized,  indicating  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  by  its  motion; 
or  in  other  ways.  In  the  historical  researches  I  have  made  on 
the  so-called  divining  rod,  I  found  it  was  used  in  this  very 
manner  two  centuries  ago.  In  fact  what  we  need  to  learn  is 
the  language  of  the  subliminal  life,  how  it  speaks  to  us,  how  we 
can  speak  to  it.  The  voluntary  action  of  the  muscles  in  speech 
or  gesture  is  the  language  of  our  conscious  hfe;  the  involuntary 
action  of  our  muscles,  and  emotional  disturbance,  appear  to  be 
the  language  of  the  subconscious  life. 

Then  another  point  should  be  noticed,  the  frequent  lagging 
of  the  impression  in  the  percipient.  I  observed  this  again  and 
again  in  my  first  experiments  in  thought  transferrence  twenty-five 
years  ago.  The  correct  reply  to  a  previous  experiment  would 
sometimes  come  in  answer  to  a  later  and  different  experiment. 
I  have  noticed  the  same  thing  also  in  dousing;  with  some  dousers 
the  motion  of  the  twig  lags  behind  the  moment  of  the  impression ; 
it  turns  after  the  douser  has  passed  a  little  beyond  the  right 
spot.  We  have  precisely  similar  phenomena  in  physical 
science.  The  magnetic  state  of  iron  lags  a  httle  behind  the 
magnetizing  force  it  is  subjected  to;  this  is  known  as  hysteresis, 
from  a  Greek  word  signifying  to  lag  behind.  So  I  beUeve  there 
is  a  psychical  as  well  as  a  physical  hysteresis,  and  if  so,  it 
should  be  reckoned  with  in  our  experiments.  It  is  improbable 
that  any  psychical  action,  even  of  telepathy,  occurs  without 
some  preceding  change  in  the  nerve  tissues;  in  technical  phrase- 
XXXVI  [  9  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

ology,  neurosis  must  always  precede  psychosis;  and  then  this 
change  must  rise  till  it  is  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  create  the 
reflex  that  moves  the  muscles.  And  all  this  involves  time, 
w^hich  may  be  greater  or  less,  and  so  account  for  the  occasional 
lag  we  observe. 

Other  questions  suggest  themselves.  Is  it  the  idea  or  the 
word,  the  motion  or  the  expression  of  the  emotion,  that  is 
transmitted  in  telepathy  ?  Probably  the  idea.  If  so,  it  affords 
a  hint  toward  the  interchange  of  thought  among  the  race  in 
spite  of  differences  of  language.  Language  is  but  a  clumsy 
instrument  of  thought,  and  quite  incommensurate  to  it;  its 
arbitrary  signs  show  it  to  be  but  the  rudiments  of  a  system 
which  the  evolutionary  progress  of  the  race  may  lead  us  to  hope 
will  be  more  perfect  in  the  future.  How  much  more  accurately 
should  we  be  able  to  transmit  complex  ideas  and  subtle  emotions 
if  thought  could  evoke  thought  without  the  mechanism  of 
speech.  This  may  now  be  the  case  in  the  state  of  life  in  the 
unseen.  The  sanctity  and  privacy  of  our  minds  will,  however, 
require  to  be  protected  from  unwelcome  intrusion,  and  this,  so 
far  as  our  conscious  life  is  concerned,  will  doubtless  be  within 
our  own  power  to  effect,  so  long  as  we  retain  control  over  our 
selfhood,  our  true  personality.^ 

Then,  again,  may  not  animals  share  with  man  this  telepathic 
power  ?  They  have  in  some  directions  keener  perceptive  facul- 
ties than  man,  and  there  is  evidence  that  they  are  strongly 
affected  by  what  we  call  apparitions.  It  may  be  that  animals, 
and  insects  like  the  ant  and  the  bee,  do  communicate  with  each 
other  by  some  process  analogous  to  telepathy.  It  is  worth  try- 
ing to  find  out  whether,  say,  a  favorite  dog  can  respond  to  a 
telepathic  impact  from  his  master.  In  centuries  to  come  it  is 
just  possible  that  through  some  such  interchange  of  feelings  we 
may  get  into  closer  communion  with  all  sentient  things. 

There  is  one  argument  in  favor  of  the  existence  of  some- 
thing analogous  to  thought  transferrence,  which — so  far  as  I 

*  In  that  remarkable  book  published  some  seventy  years  ago,  Isaac 
Taylor's  Physical  Theory  of  Another  Life  (chap,  viii.),  will  be  found  a 
prevision  of  telepathy  and  of  some  of  the  ideas  contained  in  the  fore- 
going paragraph. 

XXXVI  [  lO  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

know — has  not  been  used,  and  it  is,  I  think,  a  legitimate  argu- 
ment, for  it  is  based  upon  the  underlying  unity  that  exists 
throughout  Nature.  The  theory  of  gravitation  teaches  us  that 
every  grain  of  sand  on  every  seashore  in  this  world,  every  particle 
of  salt  in  every  salt  cellar,  is  forever  pulling  every  grain  of  sand 
or  salt,  not  only  on  this  earth,  but  on  every  planet,  or  star,  in  the 
whole  universe.  And  vice  versa,  for  there  is  a  reciprocal  in- 
fluence ever  going  on  between  these  myriads  of  remote  things. 
Nay,  more,  such  is  the  solidarity  of  the  universe  that  an  in- 
terchange of  radiation,  as  well  of  attraction,  is  ever  taking 
place  between  things  on  this  earth,  and  also  between  our  planet 
and  every  member  of  the  solar  system.  No  fact  in  physical 
science  is  more  certain  than  this.  May  not  this  "theory  of 
exchanges,"  this  mobile  equilibrium,  extend  to  the  psychical 
as  well  as  the  physical  universe?  Tennyson,  with  poetic  pre- 
science, asks  in  ''Aylmcr's  Field": 

"Star  to  star  vibrates  light,  may  soul  to  soul 
Strike  through  a  finer  element  of  her  own? " 

Certainly  it  seems  very  probable  that  every  centre  of  con- 
sciousness is  likely  to  react  telepathically  upon  every  other 
centre.* 

^  Since  this  address  was  delivered  my  attention  has  been  drawn  to 
Mrs.  Browning's  striking  sonnet  on  "Life,"  wherein  the  same  idea  is 
elaborated:  poets  are  certainly  wonderful  pioneers  of  thought.  Before 
telepathy  was  thought  of,  Mrs.  Browning  wrote: 

"  Each  creature  holds  an  insular  point  in  space; 
Yet  what  man  stirs  a  finger,  breathes  a  sound, 
But  all  the  multitudinous  beings  round 
In  all  the  countless  worlds,  with  time  and  place 
For  their  conditions,  down  to  the  central  base. 
Thrill,  haply,  in  vibration  and  rebound, 
Life  answering  life  across  the  vast  profound. 
In  full  antiphony,  by  a  common  grace? 
I  think  this  sudden  joyaunce  which  illumes 
A  child's  mouth  sleeping,  unaware  may  run 
From  some  soul  newly  loosened  from  earth's  tombs; 
I  think  this  passionate  sigh,  which  half  begun 
I  stifle  back,  may  reach  and  stir  the  plumes 
Of  God's  calm  angel  standing  in  the  sun." 

XXXVI  [  1 1  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  the  play  of  vital  forces  should  be 
more  restricted  than  that  of  the  physical  forces;  that  radio-activ- 
ities should  be  confined  to  inanimate  matter.  If  this  uncon- 
scious radiation  and  reaction  is  going  on  between  mind  and 
mind,  then  observed  cases  of  telepathy  would  simply  mean  the 
awakening  of  consciousness  to  the  fact  in  certain  minds.  Why 
some  and  not  all  minds,  and  why  so  fitfully  the  conscious  per- 
ception should  be  aroused,  are  problems  we  must  leave  to  the 
future;  they  are  quite  consistent  with  what  we  find  everywhere 
in  nature.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  disposed  to  think  this  inter- 
change is  common  to  the  race,  and  is  the  chief  reason  why  all 
men  are  insensibly  moulded  by  their  environment.  Only,  as  I 
said  just  now,  I  believe  the  telepathic  exchange  emanates  from 
and  effects  the  subconscious  part  of  our  personality.  It  is 
potentially  conscious,  and  may,  and  probably  will  eventually, 
become  an  integral  part  of  our  self-consciousness. 

We  know  as  a  matter  of  fact  that  a  vast  number  of  impres- 
sions are  constantly  being  made  upon  us,  of  which  we  take  no 
heed;  they  do  not  interest  us,  or  they  are  not  strong  enough  to 
arouse  consciousness.  But  the  impressions  are  there,  they 
leave  a  mark  upon  us,  though  we  are  not  aware  of  it,  and  they 
may  float  to  the  surface,  or  be  evoked  at  some  future  time.  One 
of  the  most  certain  and  striking  results  of  the  investigations 
made  by  our  Society  is  that  the  content  of  our  subconscious 
life  is  far  greater  than  that  of  our  conscious  life.  Our  minds 
are  like  a  photographic  plate,  sensitive  to  all  sorts  of  impres- 
sions, but  our  ego  develops  only  a  few  of  these  impressions; 
these  are  our  conscious  perceptions,  the  rest  are  latent,  awaiting 
development,  which  may  come  in  sleep,  hynopsis,  or  trance,  or 
by  the  shock  of  death,  or  after  death. 

But  even  here  and  now  this  subconscious  radio-activity  of 
thought  may  already  play  some  part  in  the  growing  sense  of 
sympathy  and  humanity  we  find  in  the  race.  And  what  a 
change  would  be  wrought  if  it  were  suddenly  to  become  an 
element  of  consciousness  among  mankind.  To  realize  the 
brotherhood  of  the  race  would  not  then  be  a  pious  aspiration  or 
a  strenuous  effort,  but  the  reality  of  all  others  most  vividly 
before  us;  involuntary  sharers  in  one  another's  pleasures  and 
XXXVI  [12] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

pains,  the  welfare  of  our  fellow-men  would  be  the  factor  in  our 
lives  which  would  dominate  all  our  conduct.  What  would  be 
the  use  of  a  luxurious  club  and  Parisian  cooks  if  the  privation 
and  suffering  of  the  destitute  were  telepathically  part  and  par- 
cel of  our  lives  ?  Slowly  the  race  does  seem  to  be  awakening 
to  the  sense  of  a  larger  self,  which  embraces  the  many  in  the 
One,  to 

"A  heart  that  beats 
In  all  its  pulses  with  the  common  heart 
Of  humankind,  which  the  same  things  make  glad, 
The  same  make  sorry." 

The  instinct  of  true  religion,  like  the  insight  of  the  true  poet, 
arrives  at  some  great  verity  without  the  process  of  reasoning  or 
the  need  of  proof.  Thus  it  has  been  with  the  belief  in  prayer 
and  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer.  Skepticism  scoffs  at  a  mystery 
which  involves  the  direct  action  of  mind  on  mind  and  the  still 
greater  mystery  of  the  movement  of  the  Infinite  by  the  finite — 
but  faith  remains  unshaken.  For  us  wayfaring  men,  however, 
reason  needs  some  help  in  climbing  the  steeps  attained  by  faith. 
And  is  not  this  help  afforded  by  the  steps  slowly  being  cut  in 
the  upward  path  by  means  of  psychical  research?  What  is 
telepathy  but  the  proof  of  the  reasonableness  of  prayer?  No 
longer  need  our  reason  rest  content  with  the  plausible  explana- 
tion that  prayer  can  do  no  more  than  evoke  a  subjective  re- 
sponse in  the  suppliant ;  that  it  is  unconceivable  how  the  Infinite 
and  the  finite  mind,  the  One  manifest  in  the  many,  can  have 
any  community  of  thought.  On  the  contrary,  if  telepathy  be 
indisputable,  if  our  creaturely  minds  can,  without  voice  or  sen- 
sation, impress  each  other,  the  Infinite  mind  is  likely  thus  to 
have  revealed  itself  in  all  ages  to  responsive  human  hearts. 
Some  may  have  the  spiritual  ear,  the  open  vision,  but  to  all  of 
us  there  comes  at  times  the  echo  of  that  larger  life  which  is 
slowly  expressing  itself  in  humanity  as  the  ages  gradually 
unfold.  In  fact  the  teaching  of  science  has  ever  been  that  we 
are  not  isolated  in,  or  from,  the  great  cosmos ;  the  light  of  suns 
and  stars  reaches  us,  the  mysterious  force  of  gravitation  binds 
the  whole  material  universe  into  an  organic  whole,  the  minutest 
XXXVI  [  13  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

molecule  and  the  most  distant  orb  are  bathed  in  one  and  the  self- 
same medium.  But  surely  beyond  and  above  all  these  material 
links  is  the  solidarity  of  mind.  As  the  essential  significance 
and  unity  of  a  honeycomb  are  not  in  the  cells  of  wax,  but  in  the 
common  life  and  purpose  of  the  builders  of  those  cells,  so  the 
true  significance  of  nature  is  not  in  the  material  world,  but  in 
the  mind  that  gives  to  it  a  meaning,  and  that  underlies  and 
unites,  that  transcends  and  creates,  the  phenomenal  world 
through  which  for  a  moment  each  of  us  is  passing.  "  The  things 
which  are  seen  are  temporal,  but  the  things  which  are  unseen 
are  eternal." 

I  will  now  turn  for  a  few  minutes  to  another  branch  of  our 
researches,  which  has  special  interest  for  me,  as  it  was  this 
subject  that  first  aroused  my  interest  in  experimental  psychology, 
and  to  which  I  gave  many  months  of  experimenting  long  before 
our  Society  was  founded.     I  refer  to  hypnotism. 

There  are  no  doubt  many  present  who  remember  the  outcry 
that  was  once  raised  against  the  investigation  of  hypnotism, 
then  called  mesmerism.  Constant  attacks  were  made  by  the 
medical  and  scientific  world  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  the  reli- 
gious world  on  the  other,  upon  the  early  workers  at  this  subject. 
They  were  denounced  as  impostors,  shunned  as  pariahs,  and 
unceremoniously  pitched  out  of  the  synagogues  of  both  science 
and  religion;  and  this  within  my  own  memory.  Physiological 
and  medical  science  can  only  hang  its  head  in  shame  when  it 
looks  back  upon  that  period.  What  do  we  find  to-day — the  sub- 
ject of  hypnotism  and  its  therapeutic  value  recognized!  It  has 
now  become  an  integral  part  of  scientific  teaching  and  investi- 
gation in  several  medical  schools,  more  especially  on  the  Con- 
tinent. I  think  our  Society  may  fairly  lay  claim  to  have  con- 
tributed to  this  change  of  view,  and  the  work  of  our  members, 
Edmund  Gurney,  and  Drs.  Arthur  Myers,  Milne  Bramwell,  and 
Lloyd  Tuckey,  has  added  much  to  the  knowledge  of  a  subject 
the  importance  of  which  it  is  difficult  to  overrate.  It  is  also 
worthy  of  note  how  the  former  neglect  on  this  subject  by  science 
relegated  it  to  the  ignorant  and  the  charlatan,  and  its  practice 
to  mysterious  and  often  mischievous  public  amusements. 
These  are  now  less  common;  and  though  the  public  apprehen- 
XXXVI  [  14  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

sion  of  the  dangerous  abuse  of  hypnotism  is  grossly  exaggerated, 
for  it  is  less  open  to  abuse  than  chloroform,  I,  for  one,  am 
strongly  of  opinion  that  we,  as  a  Society,  should  discourage, 
and  (as  in  many  Continental  countries)  get  the  legislature  to 
forbid,  the  practice  of  hypnotism  except  under  proper  medical 
supervision. 

Now,  I  think  it  is  the  duty  of  our  Society  to  cherish  the 
memory  of  these  courageous  seekers  after  truth,  who  were  the 
pioneers  in  this  and  other  branches  of  psychical  research.  The 
splendid  and  self-sacrificing  labors  of  those  distinguished  phy- 
sicians, Drs.  Elliotson  and  Esdaile,  in  the  fields  of  hypnotic 
therapeutics  and  painless  surgery  under  hypnosis,  should  never 
be  forgotten,  any  more  than  the  later  work  of  Dr.  Braid  of 
Manchester.  Dr.  Elhotson,  though  at  the  head  of  his  pro- 
fession, sacrificed  everything  for  the  advancement  of  this  branch 
of  knowledge.  The  mesmeric  hospital  in  London,  and  the 
similar  hospital  founded  in  Calcutta  by  an  enlightened  Gov- 
ernor-General and  placed  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Esdaile,  did 
remarkable  work,  too  little  known  at  the  present  day.  I  am 
therefore  glad  to  see  in  Dr.  Milne  BramwelPs  magnum  opus  on 
hypnotism  that  he  draws  special  attention  to  the  labors  of 
Elliotson,  Esdaile,  and  Braid.  And  it  is  to  be  regretted  how 
completely  these  pioneers  are  ignored  in  the  works  on  sugges- 
tive therapeutics  by  Dr.  Bernheim,  Dr.  Liebeault,  Dr.  Scho- 
field,  and  some  others. 

Leaving  this  part  of  our  subject,  now  within  the  purview  of 
science,  let  us  pass  to  the  extreme  or  advanced  wing  of  psychi- 
cal research;  to  that  part  of  our  work  on  which  considerable 
differences  of  opinion  exist  even  within  our  Society.  I  refer 
to  spiritualistic  phenomena.  With  regard  to  these  we  must 
all  agree  that  indiscriminate  condemnation  on  the  one  hand, 
and  ignorant  credulity  on  the  other,  are  the  two  most  mis- 
chievous elements  with  which  we  are  confronted  in  connec- 
tion with  this  subject.  It  is  because  we,  as  a  Society,  feel  that 
in  the  fearless  pursuit  of  truth  it  is  the  paramount  duty  of 
science  to  lead  the  way,  that  the  scornful  attitude  of  the  scientific 
world  toward  even  the  investigation  of  these  phenomena  is  so 
XXXVI  [  15  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

much  to  be  deprecated.  Hence,  as  in  the  case  of  those  who 
were  pioneers  in  the  study  of  hypnotism,  we  ought  not  to  for- 
get the  small  band  of  investigators  who  before  our  time  had 
the  courage,  after  patient  inquiry,  to  announce  their  belief  in 
what,  for  want  of  any  better  theory,  they  called  spiritualistic 
phenomena.  No  doubt  we  can  pick  holes  in  their  method  of 
investigation,  but  they  were  just  as  honest,  just  as  earnest  seekers 
after  truth,  as  we  claim  to  be,  and  they  deserve  more  credit 
than  we  can  lay  claim  to,  for  they  had  to  encounter  greater 
opposition  and  vituperation.  The  superior  person  then,  as 
now,  smiled  at  the  credulity  of  those  better  informed  than 
himself.  I  suppose  we  are  all  apt  to  fancy  our  own  power  of 
discernment  and  of  sound  judgment  to  be  somewhat  better 
than  our  neighbors'.  But,  after  all,  is  it  not  the  common  sense, 
the  care,  the  patience,  and  the  amount  of  uninterrupted  atten- 
tion we  bestow  upon  any  psychical  phenomena  we  are  investi- 
gating that  give  value  to  the  opinion  at  which  we  arrive,  and 
not  the  particular  cleverness  or  skepticism  of  the  observer  ?  The 
lesson  we  all  need  to  learn  is  that  what  even  the  humblest  of 
men  affirm  from  their  own  experience  is  always  worth  listen- 
ing to,  but  what  even  the  cleverest  of  men,  in  their  ignorance, 
deny  is  never  worth  a  moment's  attention. 

The  acute  and  powerful  intellect  of  Professor  De  Morgan, 
the  great  exposer  of  scientific  humbug,  long  ago  said,  and  he 
had  the  courage  publicly  to  state,  that  however  much  the 
Spiritualists  might  be  ridiculed,  they  were  undoubtedly  on  the 
track  that  has  led  to  all  advancement  in  knowledge,  for  they  had 
the  spirit  and  method  of  the  old  times,  when  paths  had  to  be  cut 
through  the  uncleared  forests  in  which  we  can  now  easily  walk.^ 
Their  spirit  was  that  of  universal  examination  unchecked  by 
the  fear  of  being  detected  in  the  investigation  of  nonsense.  This 
was  the  spirit  that  animated  the  Florentine  Academicians  and 
the  first  Fellows  of  the  Royal  Society  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago;  they  set  to  work  to  prove  all  things  that  they  might 
hold  fast  to  that  which  was  good.  And  their  method  was  that 
of  all  scientific  research,  viz.,  to  start  a  theory  and  see  how  it 

1  See  Preface  of  From  Matter  to  Spirit^  p.  xviii. 
XXXVI  [  l6  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

worked.  Without  a  theory  "facts  are  a  mob,  not  an  army." 
Meteorology  at  the  present  moment  is  buried  under  a  vast  mob 
of  observations  for  want  of  ingenuity  in  devising  theories;  any 
working  hypothesis  is  better  than  none  at  all.  And  so  I  agree 
with  De  Morgan  that  the  most  sane  and  scientific  method  in 
psychical  research  is  not  to  be  afraid  of  propounding  a  theory 
because  it  may  seem  extraordinary,  but  to  have  courage  to  do 
so  and  see  if  it  works.  The  theory  of  thought  transf errence  led 
to  the  accumulation  of  evidence  which  bids  fair,  sooner  or 
later,  to  place  telepathy  among  the  established  truths  of  science. 

The  amusing  feature  in  the  progress  of  knowledge  is  that, 
usually,  critics  who  resist  as  long  as  they  can  a  new  theory  are 
apt  afterwards,  when  the  theory  becomes  widely  accepted,  to 
use  it  indiscriminately,  as  if  it  covered  all  obscure  phenomena; 
and  so  it  becomes  a  kind  of  fetich  in  their  thoughts.  We  are  all 
familiar  with  the  imposture  theory,  with  the  coincidence  theory, 
and  with  the  telepathic  theory;  each  excellent  in  its  way,  but 
most  foolish  and  unscientific  if  we  allow  any  one  of  them  to 
obscure  our  vision  or  paralyze  our  investigation.  What  is 
to  be  reprobated,  as  De  Morgan  said,  "is  not  the  wariness 
which  widens  and  lengthens  inquiry,  but  the  assumption  which 
prevents  and  narrows  it." 

Instances  are  well  known  of  the  most  acute  and  careful 
inquirers,  trained  physical  detectives  we  might  call  them,  who 
having  begun  with  a  priori  reasoning  and  resolute  skepticism, 
when  they  have  thrown  aside  their  preconceived  assumptions, 
and  given  the  necessary  time  and  patience  to  the  investigation 
of  one  particular  case,  have  gone  over  to  the  spirituaHstic  camp. 
They  may  be  right  or  wrong  in  their  present  opinion,  but  we 
must  all  admit  they  have  far  better  reasons  for  forming  a 
judgment  than  any  of  us  can  have.  If  they  are  right,  it  follows 
that  the  particular  case  they  have  investigated  is  not  likely  to  be 
a  solitary  one,  but  typical  of  similar  cases  with  us  as  well  as 
with  them. 

Pray  do  not  suppose  I  hold  a  brief  on  behalf  of  spiritualism 

either  as  a  practice  or  as  a  religion.     On  the  contrary,  to  my 

mind,  few  things  are  more  dismal  than  the  common  run  of 

spiritualistic  seances.     Sometimes    they  revolt   one's  feelings, 

XXXVI  [  17  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

and  always  they  are  a  weariness  to  the  flesh.  Perhaps  the 
manifold  experiences  I  have  had  have  been  unfortunate,  and  I 
freely  admit  my  remarks  apply  more  particularly  to  sittings 
with  professional  mediums,  where  what  are  called  physical 
manifestations  take  place,  which  always  seem  to  be  on  a  lower 
plane,  even 'where  the  possibility  of  fraud  has  been  carefully 
excluded.  Nevertheless,  if  we  can  get  at  truth,  what  does  it 
matter  whether  we  draw  it  from  a  well  or  drag  it  from  a  bog? 

It  is  impossible,  however,  not  to  feel  some  sympathy  with 
the  common  objection  of  the  doubter  that  the  phenomena  are  of 
so  paltry  a  character.  But  we  cannot  prescribe  to  nature,  we 
cannot  get  rid  of  the  leprosy  of  doubt  by  choosing  rivers  of 
our  own  to  wash  in.  And  so  we  must  be  content  with  what  we 
find.  After  all,  from  a  scientific  point  of  view,  nothing  can  be 
paltry  or  mean  that  manifests  life. 

Bacteriologists  spend  their  days  searching  for  evidence  of  the 
lowest  forms  of  life.  And  surely  any  evidence  of  personality 
that  gives  us  the  faintest,  rudest  sign  that  life  still  persists, 
though  the  clothing  of  the  body  be  gone,  is  worth  infinite  trou- 
ble to  attain.     Though  it  may  be 

"Only  a  signal  shown  and  a  voice  from  out  of  the  darkness,'' 

it  is  not  paltry.  In  fine,  it  is  this  natural  human  longing  that 
renders  a  dispassionate  consideration  of  the  facts,  a  calm  and 
critical  weighing  of  the  evidence,  so  difficult  and  yet  so  impera- 
tive. 

We  must,  however,  bear  in  mind,  as  was  pointed  out  by  the 
present  Prime  Minister,  in  the  remarkable  address  he  delivered 
from  this  chair,  that  if  science  had  first  attempted  to  include 
in  its  survey  not  only  physical  but  psychical  phenomena  it 
might  for  centuries  have  lost  itself  in  dark  and  difficult  regions, 
and  the  work  of  science  to-day  would  then  have  been  less,  not 
more  complete.^  This  is  very  true;  the  foundations  of  our 
faith  in  the  undeviating  order  of  nature  had  to  be  laid  by  the 
investigation  of  the  laws  of  matter  and  motion  and  by  the 

'  Proceedings  S.  P.  R.,  Vol.  X.,  p.  5. 
XXXVI  [  18  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

discovery  of  the  orderly  evolution  of  life.  What  science  has 
now  established  is  that  the  universe  is  a  cosmos,  not  a  chaos, 
that  amidst  the  mutability  of  all  things  there  is  no  capricious- 
ness,  no  disorder;  that  in  the  interpretation  of  nature,  however 
entangled  or  obscure  the  phenomena  may  be,  we  shall  never  be 
put  to  intellectual  confusion. 

Now,  if  instead  of  investigating  the  normal  phenomena  of 
the  world  in  which  we  live,  science  had  first  grappled  with 
supernormal  phenomena,  it  would  not  have  reached  so  soon 
its  present  assured  belief  in  a  reign  of  law.  We  believe  that 
fuller  knowledge  of  the  obscure  phenomena  we  are  investigat- 
ing will  in  time  come  to  us,  as  it  has  in  other  branches  of  science, 
but  the  appearances  are  so  elusive,  the  causes  so  complex, 
the  result  of  the  work  sometimes  so  disheartening,  that  we 
need  the  steadying  influence  of  the  habit  of  thought  engen- 
dered by  science  to  enable  us  patiently  and  hopefully  to  pursue 
our  way. 

Possibly  historical  research  among  the  most  ancient  records 
may  give  us  fragments  of  unsuspected  information;  for  it  is 
very  probable  that  many,  if  not  all,  the  psychical  phenomena  we 
are  now  investigating  were  known,  and  the  knowledge  jealously 
guarded,  in  ages  long  past.  The  very  high  civilization  which 
is  now  known  to  have  existed  thousands  of  years  before  Christ 
in  the  earliest  Egyptian  dynasties  makes  it  almost  inconceiv- 
able to  imagine  that  subjects  of  such  transcendent  interest  to 
mankind  were  not  then  part  of  the  learning  of  the  few,  part 
of  "the  wisdom  of  Egypt."  The  seizure  of  this  knowledge  by 
the  priestly  caste  and  its  restriction  to  themselves,  with  pen- 
alties to  all  intruders,  were  the  natural  sequence  of  the  lower 
civilization  that  followed.  Thus  psychical  phenomena  became 
veiled  in  mystery,  and  ultimately  degraded  to  a  mischievous 
superstition.  Mystic  rites  were  added  to  impress  the  multi- 
tude; finally  divination,  enchantment,  augury,  and  necro- 
mancy became  methods  of  wielding  a  mysterious  power  held 
by  the  few.  But  such  practices  "wearied  the  people's  intellect, 
destroyed  their  enterprise,  and  distorted  their  conscience."  ^    The 

^  Prof.  G.  A.  Smith  in  his  brilliant  and.  scholarly  work  on  Isaiah, 
Vol.  II.,  p.  199. 

XXXVI  [  19  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

industry  and  politics  of  the  people  became  paralyzed  by  giving 
heed  to  an  oracle,  or  to  gibbering  spirits,  rather  than  to  reason 
and  strenuous  endeavor.  The  great  Hebrew  prophets,  the 
statesmen  of  their  day,  saw  this  clearly  and  had  the  courage  to 
denounce  such  practices  in  unmistakable  terms;  warning  the 
people  that  by  using  these  things  as  an  infallible  guide,  or  as 
a  religion,  they  were  being  misled  and  reason  was  being  de- 
throned from  her  seat.  And  so  the  burden  of  their  speech 
was,  "Thy  spells  and  enchantments  with  which  thou  hast 
wearied  thyself  have  led  thee  astray."^  Hence  these  practices 
were  prohibited,  as  a  careful  study  of  the  whole  subject  shows, 
because  they  enervated  the  nation,  and  tended  to  obscure  the 
Divine  idea:  to  weaken  the  supreme  faith  in,  and  reverent  wor- 
ship of,  the  one  omnipotent  Being  the  Hebrew  nation  was  set 
apart  to  proclaim.  With  no  assured  knowledge  of  the  great 
world  order  we  now  possess,  these  elusive  occult  phenomena 
confused  both  the  intellectual  and  moral  sense,  and  so  they 
were  wisely  thrust  aside.  But  the  danger  at  the  present  day 
is  very  different.  Instead  of  a  universe  peopled  with  unseen 
personalities,  the  science  of  to-day  has  gone  to  the  other  ex- 
treme, and,  as  Mr.  Myers  once  eloquently  said,  we  are  now 
taught  to  believe  "the  universe  to  be  a  soulless  interaction  of 
atoms,  and  life  a  paltry  misery  closed  in  the  grave."  Were  the 
Hebrew  prophets  now  among  us,  surely  their  voice  would 
not  be  raised  in  condemnation  of  the  attempts  we  are  making 
to  show  that  the  order  of  nature  contains  an  even  vaster  pro- 
cession of  phenomena  than  are  now  embraced  within  the  limits 
of  recognized  science,  and  that  behind  the  appearances  with 
which  science  deals  there  are  more  enduring  and  transcendent 
realities. 

I  have  ventured  upon  this  digression  in  the  hope  that  I  may 
remove  the  misgivings  with  which  a  part  of  our  work  is  re- 
garded by  some  leaders  of  religious  opinion,  who  from  time 
to  time  have  been  in  communication  with  me.  Perhaps  I  may 
also  add  that  the  aversion  which  some  feel  toward  any  inquiry 

^  Cf.  latter  half  of  Isaiah,  ch.  xlvii. 
XXXVI  [  20  ] 


THE  MYSTERIES 

into  spiritualistic  phenomena  arises,  I  think,  from  a  misappre- 
hension. With  what  is  spiritual,  with  religion,  these  phenom- 
ena have  nothing  in  common.  They  may  afford  us  a  rational 
behef  in  the  existence  of  life  without  a  visible  body,  of  thought 
without  material  protoplasm,  and  so  become  the  handmaid  of 
faith.  But  they  belong  to  a  wholly  different  order  from  that  of 
rehgious  faith.  Our  concern  is  solely  with  the  evidence  for 
certain  phenomena;  and  as  Prof.  Karl  Pearson  has  said, 
"Whenever  there  is  the  slightest  possibility  for  the  mind  of 
men  to  know,  there  is  a  legitimate  problem  for  science."  Hence 
all  appearances,  whether  of  microbes  or  of  men,  are  legitimate 
subjects  of  investigation.  Because  they  happen  to  be  fitful, 
or  phenomena  occurring  in  an  unseen  environment,  does  not 
render  the  investigation  improper  or  unscientific,  though  it 
makes  it  considerably  more  difficult. 

Now  the  investigations  we  have  published  undeniably  estab- 
lish the  fact  that  human  personality  embraces  a  far  larger  scope 
than  science  has  hitherto  recognized.  That  it  partakes  of  a  two- 
fold fife,  on  one  side  a  self-consciousness  which  is  awakened  by 
and  related  to  time  and  space,  to  sense  and  outward  things;  on 
the  other  side  a  deeper,  slumbering,  but  potential  consciousness, 
the  record  of  every  unheeded  past  impression,  possessing  higher 
receptive  and  perceptive  powers  than  our  normal  self-con- 
sciousness, a  self  that,  I  believe,  links  our  individual  life  to  the 
ocean  of  life  and  to  the  Source  of  all  life.  It  is  a  remarkable 
fact  that  long  ago  the  philosopher  Kant  instinctively  stated 
the  same  truth.  He  says:  ''[It  is  possible  that]  the  human 
soul  even  in  this  life  stands  in  indissoluble  community  with  all 
immaterial  natures  of  the  spirit  world,  it  mutually  acts  upon 
them  and  receives  from  them  impressions,  of  which,  however, 
as  man,  it  is  unconscious  as  long  as  all  goes  well."^     This,  of 

^  "Es  wird  kiinftig,  ich  weiss  nicht  wo  oder  wann,  noch  bewiesen 
werden,  dass  die  menschliche  Seele  auch  in  diesem  Leben  in  einer 
unaufloslich  verkniipftcn  Gemeinschaft  mit  alien  immateriellen 
Naturen  der  Geisterwelt  stehe,  dass  sie  wechselweise  in  diese  wirke  und 
von  ihnen  Eindriicke  empfange,  deren  sie  sich  als  Menseh  nicht  be- 
wusst  ist,  so  lange  alles  wohl  steht."  (Kant's  Sammtliche  Werke, 
Hartenstein's  Edition,  1867,  Vol.  II.,  p.  341- 
XXXVI  [  21  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

course,  was  Swcdenborg's  view.  He  tells  us,  "Man  is  so 
constituted  that  he  is  at  the  same  time  in  the  spiritual  world 
and  in  the  natural  world."  Plotinus,  who  lived  in  the  third 
century,  held  a  similar  belief;  this  was  in  fact  the  view  of  the 
Neo-Platonists  and  of  the  later  mystics  generally.^  In  con- 
nection with  this  subject  may  I  commend  to  you  the  perusal  of 
Dr.  Du  Prel's  "  Philosophy  of  Mysticism,'*  which  has  been  trans- 
lated with  loving  labor  by  one  of  the  earliest  and  best  friends 
of  our  Society,  Mr.  C.  C.  Massey;  perhaps  the  most  valuable 
part  of  the  work  being  the  suggestive  introduction  which  Mr. 
Massey  himself  has  added .^ 

There  is  one  interesting  point  in  connection  with  spirituaHs- 
tic  phenomena  which  is  worth  a  little  attention.  As  we  are  all 
aware,  the  production  of  these  phenomena  appears  to  be  in- 
separably connected  with  some  special  person  whom  we  call 
"mediumistic."  This  fact  affords  perennial  amusement  to  the 
man  in  the  street.  But  from  a  purely  scientific  standpoint  there 
is  nothing  remarkable  in  this.  Recent  discoveries  have  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  a  comparatively  few  substances  possess 
what  is  called  radio-active  power.  Unlike  ordinary  forms  of 
matter,  these  radio-active  bodies  possess  an  inherent  and 
peculiar  structure  of  their  own.  There  is  therefore  nothing 
absurd  in  supposing  that  there  may  be  a  comparatively  few  per- 
sons who  have  a  peculiar  and  remarkable  mental  structure, 
differing  from  the  rest  of  mankind.  Moreover,  the  pathologist 
or  alienist  does  not  refuse  to  investigate  epilepsy  or  monomania 
because  restricted  to  a  limited  number  of  human  beings. 

Furthermore,  physical  science  gives  us  abundant  analogies  of 
the  necessity  of  some  intermediary  between  the  unseen  and  the 

1  Vaughan's  Hours  with  the  Mystics,  Vol.  I.,  contains  an  excellent 
summary  of  the  views  of  the  Neo-Platonists.  Philo  Judasus,  writing 
from  Alexandria  a  few  years  b.  c,  says:  "This  alliance  with  an  upper 
world,  of  which  we  are  conscious,  would  be  impossible,  were  not  the 
soul  of  man  an  indivisible  portion  of  the  divine  and  blessed  spirit." 
See  also  Thomas  Taylor's  translation  of  some  of  the  works  of  Plotinus. 

*  Here  perhaps  I  may  add  one  line  expressive  of  my  own  indebted- 
ness to  and  affectionate  regard  for  my  dear  friend  C.  C.  Massey,  whose 
knowledge  of  all  that  relates  to  the  higher  problems  before  our  Society 
is  more  profound  than  that  of  any  one  I  know. 
XXXVI  [  22  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

seen.  Waves  in  the  luminiferous  ether  require  a  material 
medium  to  absorb  them  before  they  can  be  perceived  by  our 
senses.  The  intermediary  may  be  a  photographic  plate,  a 
fluorescent  screen,  the  retina,  a  black  surface,  or  an  electric 
resonator,  according  to  the  length  of  those  waves.  But  some 
medium  formed  of  ponderable  matter  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  render  the  actinic,  luminous,  thermal,  or  electrical  effects  of 
these  waves  perceptible  to  our  senses.  And  the  more  or  less 
perfect  rendering  of  the  invisible  waves  depends  on  the  more 
or  less  perfect  synchronism  between  the  unseen  motions  of  the 
ether  and  the  response  of  the  material  medium  that  absorbs  and 
manifests  them. 

Thus  we  find  certain  definite  physical  media  are  necessary 
to  enable  operations  to  become  perceptible  which  otherwise 
remain  imperceptible.  Through  these  media  energy  traversing 
the  unseen  is  thereby  arrested,  and,  passing  through  ponderable 
matter,  is  able  to  affect  our  senses  and  arouse  consciousness. 

Now,  the  nexus  between  the  seen  and  the  unseen  may  be 
physical  or  psychical,  but  it  is  always  a  specialized  substance, 
or  living  organism.  In  some  cases  the  receiver  is  a  body  in 
a  state  of  unstable  equihbrium,  a  sensitive  material — like  one 
of  Sir  Oliver  Lodge's  receivers  for  wireless  telegraphy — and  in 
that  case  its  behavior  and  idiosyncrasies  need  to  be  studied 
beforehand.  It  is  doubtless  a  peculiar  psychical  state,  of  the 
nature  of  which  we  know  nothing,  that  enables  certain  persons 
whom  we  call  mediums  to  act  as  receivers,  or  resonators, 
through  which  an  unseen  intelligence  can  manifest  itself  to  us. 
And  this  receptive  state  is  probably  a  sensitive  condition  easily 
affected  by  its  mental  environment. 

We  should  not  go  to  a  photographer  who  took  no  trouble  to 
protect  his  plates  from  careless  exposure  before  putting  them 
in  the  camera.  And  I  do  not  know  why  we  should  expect  any- 
thing but  a  confused  result  from  a  so-called  medium  (or  auto- 
matist,  as  Myers  suggested  they  should  be  called)  if  the  mental 
state  of  those  present  reacts  unfavorably  upon  the  sensitive. 
Infinite  patience  and  laborious  care  in  observation  we  must 
have  (as  in  all  difficult  investigation),  but  what  good  results 
from  any  scientific  research  could  we  expect,  if  we  started  with 
XXXVI  [  23  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

the  presumption  that   there   was  nothing  to  investigate  but 
imposture  ? 

In  connection  with  this  subject  of  mediumship,  it  seems  to 
me  very  probable  that  a  medium,  an  intermediary  of  some  sort, 
is  not  only  required  on  our  side  in  the  seen,  but  is  also  required 
on  the  other  side  in  the  unseen.  In  all  communication  of 
thought  from  one  person  to  another  a  double  translation  is 
necessary.  Thought,  in  some  inscrutable  way,  acts  upon  the 
medium  of  our  brain,  and  becomes  expressed  in  written  or 
spoken  words.  These  words,  after  passing  through  space,  have 
again  to  be  translated  back  to  thought  through  the  medium  of 
another  brain.  That  is  to  say,  there  is  a  descent  from  thought 
to  gross  matter  on  one  side,  a  transmission  through  space,  and 
an  ascent  from  gross  matter  to  thought  on  the  other  side  Now 
the  so-called  medium,  or  automatist,  acts  as  our  brain,  trans- 
lating for  us  the  impressions  made  upon  it  and  which  it  receives 
across  space  from  the  unseen.  But  there  must  be  a  corre- 
sponding descent  of  thought  on  the  other  side  to  such  a  tele- 
pathic form  that  it  can  act  upon  the  material  particles  of  the 
brain  of  our  medium.  It  may  be  even  more  difficult  to  find  a 
spirit  medium  there  than  here.  No  doubt  wisely  so,  for  the 
invasion  of  our  consciousness  here  might  otherwise  be  so  fre- 
quent and  troublesome  as  to  paralyze  the  conduct  of  our  life. 
It  is  possible,  therefore,  that  much  of  the  difficulty  and  con- 
fusion of  the  manifestations  which  are  recorded  in  our  Pro- 
ceedings, and  in  the  very  valuable  contribution  which  Mr. 
Piddington  has  just  given  us  of  sittings  with  Mrs.  Thompson, 
are  due  to  inevitable  difficulties  in  translation  on  both  sides.^ 

1  Miss  Jane  Barlow,  who  has  made  a  close  study  of  these  com- 
munications, writes  to  me  on  this  point:  "The  almost  unimaginable 
difficulty  in  communicating  may  account  for  many  of  the  failures, 
mistakes,  and  absurdities  we  notice.  I  think  we  are  apt  to  lay  too 
much  stress  on  the  want  of  memory.  Apart  from  purely  evidential 
considerations,  there  seems  a  tendency  to  regard  it  as  a  larger  and 
more  essential  element  of  Personality  than  it  really  is.  In  my  own 
case  for  instance,  any  trivial  cause — a  headache,  a  cold,  or  a  little 
flurry — scatters  my  memory  for  proper  names.  I  can  easily  imagine 
myself  forgetting  my  own  name  without  suffering  from  any  serious  con- 
fusion of  intellect  in  other  respects,  or  the  least  decay  of  personality." 
XXXVI  [  24  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

Furthermore,  if  my  view  be  correct,  that  the  self-conscious 
part  of  our  personaHty  plays  but  a  subordinate  part  in  any 
telepathic  transmission,  whether  from  incarnate  or  discarnate 
minds,  we  shall  realize  how  enormously  complex  the  problem 
becomes.  So  that  the  real  persons  whom  we  knew  on  earth 
may  find  the  difficulty  of  self -manifestation  too  great  to  over- 
come, and  only  a  fitful  fragment  of  their  thoughts  can  thus 
reach  us. 

There  is,  however,  another  view  of  the  matter  which  to  me 
seems  very  probable.  The  transition  from  this  Hfe  to  the  next 
may  in  some  respects  resemble  our  ordinary  awakening  from 
sleep.  The  discarnate  soul  not  improbably  regards  the  circum- 
stances of  his  past  life,  ''in  this  dream  world  of  ours,"  as  we 
now  regard  a  dream  upon  awakening.  If,  even  immediately 
upon  awakening,  we  try  to  recall  all  the  incidents  of  a  more  or 
less  vivid  dream,  we  find  how^  difficult  it  is  to  do  so,  how  frag- 
mentary the  whole  appears;  and  yet  in  some  way  we  are  con- 
scious the  dream  was  a  far  more  coherent  and  real  thing  than 
we  can  express  in  our  waking  moments.  Is  it  not  a  frequent 
and  provoking  experience  that  while  some  trivial  features 
recur  to  us,  the  dream  as  a  whole  is  elusive,  and  as  time  passes 
on  even  the  most  vivid  dream  is  gone  beyond  recall?  May 
it  not  be  that  something  analogous  to  this  awaits  us  when  we 
find  ourselves  amid  the  transcendent  realities  of  the  unseen 
universe?  The  deep  impress  of  the  present  Hfe  will  doubtless 
be  left  on  our  personaHty,  but  its  details  may  be  difficult  to 
bring  into  consciousness,  and  we  may  find  them  fading  from  us 
as  we  wake  to  the  dawn  of  the  eternal  day. 

Whatever  view  we  take,  the  records  of  these  manifestations 
in  our  Proceedings  give  us  the  impression  of  a  truncated  per- 
sonality, "the  dwindling  remnant  of  a  life,"  rather  than  of  a 
fuller,  larger  life.  Hence,  while  in  my  opinion  psychical 
research  does  show  us  that  intelligence  can  exist  in  the  unseen, 
and  personality  can  survive  the  shock  of  death,  we  must  not 
confuse  mere,  and  perhaps  temporary,  survival  after  death  with 
that  higher  and  more  expanded  life  which  we  desire  and  mean 
by  immortaHty,  and  the  attainment  of  which,  whatever  may  be 
our  creed,  is  only  to  be  won  through  the  "process  of  the  Cross." 
XXXVI  [  25  ] 


THE   MYSTERIES 

For  it  is  by  self-surrender,  the  surrender,  that  is,  of  all  that 
fetters  "What  we  feel  within  ourselves  is  highest,"  that  we  enter 
the  pathway  of  self-realization.   Or  as  Tennyson  expresses  it: 

"Thro'  loss  of  Self 
The  gain  of  such  large  life  as  match 'd  with  ours 
Were  Sun  to  spark — unshadowable  in  words, 
Themselves  but  shadows  of  a  shadow-world."^ 

1  So  also  Goethe : 

"Und  so  lang  du  das  nicht  hast, 
Dieses :  'stirb  und  werde  ' ! 
Bist  du  nur  ein  triiber  Gast 
Auf  der  dunklen  Erde.'- 


XXXVI  [  26  ] 


XXXVII 


HYPNOTISM 

"ITS  HISTORY,  NATURE,  AND  USE" 

BY 

HAROLD  M.  HAYS, 

PHYSICIAN    OP    MOUNT    SINAI    HOSPITAL 


/^  all  these  vague  reachings  toward  the  occult,  these  mys- 
terious influences  of  mind  on  mind,  no  other,  as  Professor 
Barrett  has  pointed  out  for  us,  is  so  definitely  recognized  and 
established  as  hypnotism.  This  force,  weird  and  inexplicable 
as  its  action  still  remains,  has  been  positively  accepted  within 
the  domain  of  fact.  It  is  medically  employed  in  the  treatment  of 
disease.  It  begins  to  be  matter  of  experiment  in  the  inculcation 
of  morality.  This  set  of  phenomena  have  therefore  seemed  to 
deserve  special  examination  in  our  series,  and  the  subject  is 
presented  from  the  pen  of  a  man  of  the  day  and  one  of  ourselves, 
a  New  York  physician,  in  actual  practice  and  of  scholarly  re- 
pute, Dr.  Harold  M.  Hays.  His  discussion  is  reprinted  by 
permission  from  the  Popular  Science  Monthly,  where  its  ap- 
pearance drew  much  approving  comment. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  state  that  the  word  hypnotism 
brings  to  the  mind  of  the  average  person  timid  recollections  of 
many  criminal  acts.  That  is  because  few  people  hear  of  hypno- 
tism in  its  proper  sphere.  It  is  clothed  with  the  garb  of  shame; 
it  is  surrounded  with  all  the  horror  belonging  to  the  age  of 
witchcraft.  Newspapers  delight  in  depicting  its  bad  sides,  in 
painting  to  the  world  the  crimes  that  have  been  committed 
under  its  influence,  the  fearful  results  of  its  all-powerful  spell. 
To  most  it  means  a  giving  up  of  one's  will  to  another  who  is 
xxxvn  [  I  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

superior,  the  crushing  of  one's  entity  by  the  power  of  another, 
the  total  abstinence  of  individual  self-control,  the  entire  weak- 
ening of  one's  higher  intelligence.  Vivid  imagination  supplies 
the  result — suffering,  hardship,  labor,  and  total  subservience. 

The  question  arises,  "Why  should  hypnotism  have  been 
thus  derided?"  Simply  and  plainly  because  the  ignorance  of 
people  in  general  has  given  it  no  opportunity  to  show  its  good 
sides.  Unfortunately,  people  are  always  looking  for  the  "eternal 
gullible"  and  are  not  satisfied  until  they  get  a  taste  of  it.  And, 
as  hypnotism  was  first  practised  solely  and  is  now  practised 
mostly  by  men  who  have  made  the  world  their  dupes,  the  world 
has  had  to  suffer  in  the  advancement  of  hypnotism  on  a  scientific 
basis.  But  it  has  been  so  with  other  sciences.  Astrology  and 
alchemy  are  now  things  of  the  past ;  but  astronomy  and  chemis- 
try are  their  results — two  great  and  everlasting  sciences.  There 
is,  therefore,  still  great  hope  for  hypnotism ;  for,  although  known 
under  different  names  for  so  many  hundreds  of  years,  it  is  still 
in  its  infancy  and  the  scientific  aspect  of  the  subject  is  yet  in 
embryo. 

Before,  however,  proceeding  to  cases  in  point,  we  may 
review  briefly  the  history  of  hypnotism  up  to  the  present  day. 
Call  it  what  we  may,  since  the  beginning  of  the  world,  before 
Noah  ever  went  on  the  Ark  or  the  whale  swallowed  Jonah 
(much  to  the  discomfort  of  both),  hypnotism  has  been  practised. 
The  influence  of  one  man  over  another  by  a  certain  innate 
quality  or  by  personal  magnetism  has  always  been.  Even 
Eve  exerted  an  influence  over  Adam  which  has  precipitated  the 
world  into  misery  and  kept  it  there  ever  since.  As  time  went  on, 
people  recognized  this  influence,  gave  it  a  name  and  called  it 
the  influence  of  the  gods,  the  result  being  that  those  who  were 
ordained  with  this  wonderful  power  were  called  God's  min- 
isters. Soothsayers,  divine  healers,  the  oracle  ministers,  all 
made  the  Oriental  people  construe  this  power  by  religious  means. 
Among  the  Chaldeans,  Babylonians,  Persians,  Hindoos,  and 
other  ancient  peoples,  there  were  priests  who,  because  of  their 
power  of  exerting  a  superhuman  influence  over  others,  were 
considered  divine.  To  this  day  the  yogis  and  fakirs  of  India 
use  this  power  and  throw  themselves  into  a  state  of  hynotic 

XXXVII  [  2  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

ecstasy  and  revery.  In  the  eleventh  century  it  was  used  in  the 
Greek  Church,  as  it  is  now  by  the  omphalopsychics.  In  the 
Middle  Ages  it  was  practised  by  Paracelsus,  who  maintained 
that  the  human  body  possessed  a  double  magnetism,  the  first 
magnetism  coming  from  the  planets,  the  second  from  flesh  and 
blood.  All  through  the  Middle  Ages  hypnotism  was  practised 
under  different  names,  such  as  witchcraft,  divinations,  etc.  It 
was  supposed  to  be  a  supernatural  power  derived  from  Satan 
himself,  and,  therefore,  the  user  of  this  power  was  expelled  from 
society  and  sometimes  put  to  death.  Magic  spells  where 
people  went  into  trances  or  out  of  their  head  were  of  common 
occurrence.  Religious  ecstasy,  demon-possession,  cures  by 
shrines  and  relics,  the  cure  by  the  king's  touch,  etc.,  were  all 
phenomena  of  this  same  sort. 

During  the  seventeenth  century  a  number  of  faith  healers 
sprang  up  all  over  the  Continent  and  British  Isles.  Many 
of  these  men  were  noted  for  their  skill,  but  the  one  who  attained 
the  greatest  reputation  was  one  by  the  name  of  Greatrakes,  who 
was  born  in  Ireland  about  1628.  This  ''healer"  was  sent  for 
by  a  Lord  Conway,  who  expressed  his  message  in  tl.e  following 
language:  "to  cure  that  excellent  lady  of  his,  the  pains  of  whose 
head,  as  great  and  unparalleled  as  they  are,  have  not  made 
her  more  known  or  admired  abroad  than  have  her  other  en- 
dowments." At  Lady  Conway's  was  a  miscellaneous  gather- 
ing, chiefly  engaged  in  mystical  pursuits,  ''an  unofficial  but 
active  society  for  psychical  research,  as  that  study  existed  in 
the  seventeenth  century."  Says  Mr.  Lang:  Greatrakes'  special 
genius  in  these  mystical  pursuits  was  of  divine  agency;  for  he 
tells  us  that  at  one  time  "he  heard  a  voyce  within  him  (audible 
to  none  else),  encouraging  to  the  tryals:  and  afterwards  to  cor- 
rect his  unbehef  the  voice  aforesaid  added  this  sign,  that  his 
right  hand  should  he  dead,  and  that  the  streaking  oj  his  left  arm 
should  recover  it  again,  the  events  whereof  were  fully  verified 
by  him  three  nights  together  by  a  successive  infirmity  and  cure 
of  his  arm."  We  are  told  that  he  failed  to  cure  the  lady's 
malady,  but  that  he  worked  some  wonderful  miracles  of  healing 
among  the  sick  of  the  neighborhood. 

Henry    Stubbe,    a    physician    of    Stratford-on-Avon,    thus 
XXXVII  [  3  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

comments  on  Greatrakcs'  miracles.  He  says  ''that  God  had 
bestowed  upon  Mr.  Greatrakcs  a  pecuhar  temperament,  etc., 
composed  his  body  of  some  particular  ferments,  the  effluvia 
whereof,  being  sometimes  introduced  by  a  light,  sometimes 
by  a  violent  friction,  should  restore  the  temperament  of  the 
debilitated  parts,  reinvigorate  the  blood  and  dissipate  all 
heterogeneous  ferments  out  of  the  bodies  of  the  diseased,  by 
the  eyes,  nose,  mouth,  hands,  and  feet."  Indeed,  he  recognized 
the  difference  between  functional  and  organic  complaints;  and 
he  only  meddled  with  such  diseases  as  ''have  their  essence  either 
in  the  masse  of  blood  and  spirit  (or  nervous  liquors)  or  the 
particular  temperament  of  the  part  of  the  body"  and  attempted 
to  cure  no  disease  *'  wherein  there  is  a  decay  of  nature. "  "  This 
is  a  confessed  truth  by  him,  he  refusing  still  to  touch  the  eyes  of 
such  as  their  sight  has  quite  perished."  None  the  less  his  cures 
were  regarded  as  miraculous,  and  Dr.  Stubbe  tells  us  that  "as 
there  is  but  one  Mr.  Greatrakcs,  so  there  is  but  one  Sonne"; 
Greatrakcs'  method  consisted  principally  in  stroaking  and 
passings  and  in  driving  the  pains  from  one  point  to  another 
until  they  went  out  at  the  fmgers  or  toes. 

In  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century  many  fakirs, 
alleged  philosophers,  quacks,  and  cosmongerers  came  to  the 
front.  Swedenborg,  with  his  inspirations;  Caghostro,  with  his 
idea  of  personal  power;  Schrepfer,  with  the  beginning  of  spirit- 
ualism ;  and  then  Gassner,  the  priest  healer,  who  gave  to  Mesmer 
later  on  some  of  the  ideas  for  the  foundation  of  his  theories. 

Johann  Joseph  Gassner,  a  Swabian  priest,  appeared  upon 
the  scene  in  1773.  He  was  a  forerunner  of  our  modern  spirit- 
uahst  in  a  way,  but  had  the  added  distinction  of  attributing 
all  diseases  to  the  devil.  So  his  object  was  to  pray  for  the 
expulsion  of  this  satanic  being.  The  patient  had  to  have 
impHcit  faith  and  was  made  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  his 
malady.  Gassner's  next  procedure  was  to  chant  various 
symptoms  such  as  pain,  weakness,  stiffness,  etc.,  and  at  his 
peremptory  command  to  "stop,"  these  symptoms  would  disap- 
pear and  the  patient  be  well  again.  At  the  words  *'You  will 
cease  being  disabled,"  the  patient's  symptoms  vanished.  "  Your 
right  hand  and  arm  will  become  somewhat  weak,"  he  says; 
xxxvn  [  4  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

and  no  sooner  are  the  words  out  his  mouth  than  the  right  hand 
is  cold  and  numb  and  the  pulse  is  accelerated.  "  Your  left  hand 
will  become  as  your  right  one  was  and  this  one  will  be  normal," 
is  his  next  invocation,  whereupon  the  left  hand  is  cold  and 
numb  and  the  right  returns  to  normal.  Gassner  keeps  up  these 
incantations  until  the  patient  is  entirely  cured,  each  prayer  being 
accompanied  by  the  invocation  that  "this  is  accomplished  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord,  Our  Father."  Gassner's  cures  in  theory  and 
practice  were  identical  with  those  of  Greatrakes,  except  that 
the  mystery  was  now  clothed  in  a  religious  garb.  In  both,  the 
predominant  idea  was  the  suggestion  to  the  patient  that  he 
would  get  well. 

The  reason  why  hypnotism  was  not  studied  scientifically 
until  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  that  there  was 
too  much  of  an  air  of  mystery  surrounding  the  workings  of  the 
phenomena.  Whenever  hypnotic  power  was  discovered  in  a 
person,  he  at  once  considered  himself  as  one  who  possessed 
attributes  which  placed  him  above  the  plane  of  society.  Sug- 
gestion was  of  course  practised  as  it  always  has  been,  but  the 
true  idea  of  what  the  power  consisted  of  was  unknown.  At 
last,  toward  the  close  of  the  century,  Frederick  Anton  Mesmer 
rose  before  the  world  as  a  disciple  of  a  new  force  which  was 
destined  to  turn  the  scale  on  to  the  side  of  science  and  forever 
after  to  present  hypnotism  in  a  new  light. 

Frederick  Anton  Mesmer  was  born  at  Weil,  near  the  point 
at  which  the  Rhine  leaves  the  Lake  of  Constance,  on  May  23, 
1733.  He  studied  medicine  at  Vienna  under  eminent  masters, 
although  at  first  his  parents  had  destined  him  for  the  church. 
Interested  in  astrology,  he  imagined  that  the  stars  exerted  an 
influence  on  beings  living  on  the  earth.  He  identified  the 
supposed  force  first  with  electricity  and  then  with  magnetism; 
and  it  was  but  a  short  step  to  suppose  that  stroking  diseased 
bodies  with  magnets  might  effect  a  cure.  In  1776,  meeting 
Gassner  in  Switzerland,  he  observed  that  the  priest  effected 
cures  without  the  use  of  magnets,  but  by  manipulation  alone. 
This  led  Mesmer  to  discard  the  magnets,  and  to  suppose  that 
some  kind  of  occult  force  resided  in  himself  by  which  he  could 
influence  others.  Mesmer's  first  practical  work  with  magnets 
xxxvn  [  5  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

was  in  1779,  when  he  magnetized  a  young  lady  complaining 
of  various  functional  disorders.  This  emotional  young  lady 
"  felt  internally  a  painful  streaming  of  a  very  fine  substance,  now 
here,  now  there,  but  finally  settling  in  the  lower  part  of  her  body 
and  freeing  her  from  all  further  attacks  for  six  hours. "  She 
was  extremely  sensitive  to  any  of  Mesmer's  suggestions,  but 
would  obey  no  one  but  him.  Thus  we  see  the  primeval  work- 
ings of  animal  magnetism,  afterward  called  hypnotism. 

Mesmer  removed  to  Paris  in  1778,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
French  capital  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  great  excitement  by 
the  marvellous  effects  of  what  he  called  mesmerism.  Mesmer 
soon  made  many  converts;  controversies  arose;  he  excited  the 
indignation  of  the  medical  faculty  of  Paris,  who  stigmatized 
him  as  a  charlatan;  still  the  people  crowded  to  him. 

While  at  Paris  his  practice  became  so  enormous  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  handle  all  his  patients.  So  he  invented 
a  scheme  by  which  a  number  of  his  patients  could  be  magnetized 
at  once.  He  had  troughs  filled  with  bottles  of  water  and  iron 
filings,  around  which  the  patients  stood  holding  iron  rods  which 
issued  from  the  troughs.  All  the  subjects_  were  tied  to  each 
other  by  cords  so  that  they  could  not  break  away  and  thus  spoil 
the  contact.  Perfect  silence  was  necessary  and  soft  music  was 
heard.  The  patients  were  affected  variously,  according  to  the 
suggestion  Mesmer  gave  them.  Some  became  hysterical, 
others  crazed,  some  became  affectionate  and  embraced  each 
other,  while  others  laughed  and  became  repulsive.  This  lasted 
for  hours  and  was  followed  by  states  of  dreaminess  and  languor. 
A  picture  given  by  Binet  and  Feret,  two  eminent  French  scien- 
tists, will  present  an  idea  of  these  meetings. 

"Mesmer,  wearing  a  coat  of  lilac  silk,  walked  up  and  down 
amid  this  agitated  throng  accompanied  by  Deslon  and  his 
associates  whom  he  chose  for  their  youth  and  comeliness. 
Mesmer  carried  a  long  iron  wand,  with  which  he  touched  the 
bodies  of  the  patients  and  especially  the  diseased  parts.  Often 
laying  aside  the  wand,  he  magnetized  the  patients  with  his  eyes, 
fixing  his  gaze  on  theirs,  or  applying  his  hand  to  the  hypochon- 
driac region  and  to  the  abdomen.  This  application  was  often 
applied  for  hours,  and  at  other  times  the  master  made  use  of 
XXXVII  [  6  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

passes.  He  began  by  placing  himself  '  en  rapport '  with  his  sub- 
ject. Seated  opposite  to  him,  foot  against  foot,  knee  against 
knee,  Mesmer  laid  his  fingers  on  the  hypochondriac  region  and 
moved  them  to  and  fro,  lightly  touching  the  ribs.  Magnetism 
with  strong  electric  currents  was  substituted  for  these  manipula- 
tions when  more  energetic  results  were  to  be  produced.  The 
master,  raising  his  fingers  in  a  pyramidal  form,  passed  his  hands 
all  over  the  patient's  body,  beginning  with  the  head  and  going 
downward  over  the  shoulders  to  the  feet.  He  then  returned  to 
the  head,  both  back  and  front,  to  the  belly  and  the  back,  and 
renewed  the  process  again  and  again  until  the  magnetized  per- 
son was  saturated  with  the  healing  fluid  and  transported  with 
pain  or  pleasure,  both  sensations  being  equally  salutary.  Young 
women  were  so  much  gratified  by  the  crisis  that  they  wished  to 
be  thrown  into  it  anew.  They  followed  Mesmer  through  the 
halls  and  confessed  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  warmly 
attached  to  the  person  of  the  magnetizer." 

Mesmer  was  not  an  impostor  by  any  means.  He  had  deceived 
himself  and  had  thus  deceived  others.  But  the  Academy 
of  Sciences  in  Paris  beheved  that  he  was  a  mystic  and  a  fanatic, 
and  made  it  so  hot  for  him  that  he  was  finally  forced  to  leave 
France,  where,  "however,  he  returned  later.  He  died  in  1815, 
and  for  a  time  animal  magnetism  fell  into  disrepute  and  Mesmer 
was  denounced  as  an  impostor. 

Before  Mesmer 's  death,  he  moved  from  Paris  to  a  secluded 
spot  among  the  hills.  We  see  him  at  the  last — bitterly  com- 
plaining of  the  treatment  he  had  received,  thoroughly  convinced 
as  to  the  truth  of  his  pet  theories,  performing  various  cures  for 
the  peasants  about  him,  and  living  the  simple  life  of  a  hermit. 

Throughout  Mesmer's  career,  the  streets  were  not  paved 
with  gold.  Many  people  died  under  his  treatment,  giving  the 
belief  that  the  treatment  itself  was  the  cause  of  death.  He  was 
treated  with  ridicule  wherever  he  went.  Papers,  plays,  etc., 
brought  him  even  more  prominently  before  the  public  in  a  more 
ridiculous  light  than  his  own  hypothetical  and  mystical  per- 
formances. A  comedy,  "Docteur  Modernes"  brought  his 
procedures  on  the  stage.  It  severely  criticised  his  "fanatical" 
enthusiasm  for  a  quondam  science  and  portrayed  the  supposed 
xxxvn  [  7 ] 


HYPNOTISM 

abuses  of  his  treatment.  In  England  notices  like  the  following 
appeared  in  the  leading  journals : 

''The  Wonderful  Magnetical  Elixir.  Take  of  the  chemical 
oil  of  Fear,  Dread,  and  Terror,  each  4  oz.;  of  the  Rectified 
Spirits  of  Imagination,  2  lbs.  Put  all  these  ingredients  into 
a  bottle  of  fancy,  digest  for  several  days,  and  take  forty  drops 
at  about  nine  in  the  morning,  or  a  few  minutes  before  you  re- 
ceive a  portion  of  the  magnetic  Efiiuvia.  They  will  make  the 
effluvia  have  a  surprising  effect,  etc.,  etc." 

Once,  in  1785,  a  mock  funeral  oration  upon  Mesmer  took 
place,  making  his  exhibitions  and  theories  seem  more  ridiculous 
than  ever.  Thus  he  was  tossed  about  between  ridicule  and 
praise  until,  as  we  have  seen,  his  life  was  hardly  one  of  harmony 
or  joy. 

Braid. 

Although  a  number  of  men  followed  Mesmer,  appropriating 
his  method,  enlarging  upon  it  and  changing  it  somewhat — 
such  men  as  de  Puysegur — it  will  be  impossible  in  such  a  brief 
essay  to  tell  of  all  of  them.  However,  there  is  one  man  who 
rose  up  in  the  chaos  of  the  times  and  again  added  new  facts  and 
theories  to  the  science.  This  man  was  Braid,  a  surgeon  of  Man- 
chester, England.  Braid  was  born  in  the  year  1795  on  his 
father's  estate  in  Fifeshire.  He  received  his  education  at  the 
University  of  Edinburgh,  later  being  apprenticed  to  Dr.  Chas. 
Anderson,  of  Leith.  After  graduating,  he  was  appointed 
surgeon  to  the  Hopetown  mining  works  in  Lanarkshire,  later 
moving  to  Dumfries,  where  he  engaged  in  practice  with  a 
Dr.  Maxwell.  An  accident  happening  at  that  time  brought 
to  his  town  a  Mr.  Petty,  who  finally  persuaded  him  to  move  to 
Manchester.  It  was  here  that  he  carefully  worked  on  his 
new  discovery  and  practised  his  cures.  He  died  on  March  25, 
i860. 

There  is  very  little  in  Braid's  life  of  especial  interest,  except 
his  investigations  in  animal  magnetism.  His  life  seems  to  have 
been  particularly  free  from  the  early  struggles  of  a  young 
practitioner.  His  interest  in  animal  magnetism  dates  from 
the  time  he  witnessed  a  seance  by  a  M.  Lafontaine,  a  travelling 
XXXVII  [  8  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

mesmerist.     He  was  extremely  skeptical,  but  this  one  urged 
him  to  try  experimenting  himself. 

In  1866  this  M.  Ch.  Lafontaine,  a  travelling  mesmerist, 
published  his  ''Memoirs  of  a  Magnetizer."  If  it  had  not  been 
for  this,  the  electro-biologists  of  America,  under  one  named 
Grimes,  might  have  claimed  prior  right  to  the  discovery  of  hypno- 
tism. M.  Lafontaine  thus  describes  the  state  of  affairs  at  that 
time: 

"Having  accomplished  the  cure  of  numerous  deaf  and 
blind  persons,"  says  he  with  modest  assurance,  "as  also  nu- 
merous epileptic  and  paralytic  sufferers  at  the  hospital  (this 
was  in  Birmingham),  I  repaired  to  Liverpool,  but  only  to  meet 
with  disappointment ;  few  persons  attended  the  seance ;  and  on 
the  following  day  I  proceeded  to  Manchester,  in  which  city 
my  success  was  conspicuous.  The  newspapers  reported  my 
experiments  at  great  length,  and  to  give  some  idea  of  the  sensa- 
tion I  created  I  may  say  that  my  seances  returned  me  a  gross 
total  of  30,000  f  ranees.  I  put  to  sleep  a  number  of  persons  who 
were  well-known  residents  of  Manchester.  I  caused  deaf 
mutes  to  hear,  operated  a  number  of  brilliant  cures.  After  my 
departure.  Dr.  Braid,  a  surgeon  in  Manchester,  delivered  a 
lecture  in  which  he  proposed  to  prove  that  magnetism  was 
non-existent.  From  this  lecture  Braidism,  afterwards  called 
hypnotism,  originated,  ardent  discussions  arising,  even  from  the 
beginning,  over  this  pretended  discovery.  I  received  letters 
from  Manchester  entreating  me  to  return,  and  I  did  so  on 
a  date  when  Dr.  Braid  had  announced  a  demonstration.  His 
experiments  were  given,  but  unfortunately  on  this  occasion  none 
of  them  succeeded;  neither  sleep  nor  catalepsy  was  obtained, 
and  every  moment  I  was  appealed  to.  In  the  facts  that  were 
advanced  on  this  occasion  by  Dr.  Braid,  there  was  in  my  opinion 
absolutely  nothing  that  was  remarkable,  and  had  not  that 
gentleman  been  honorably  known  in  the  town  I  should  have 
supposed  that  he  was  mystifying  his  audience.  The  next  day, 
and  for  six  days  consecutively,  I  experimented  after  his^  own 
fashion  on  fifty  or  sixty  subjects  and  the  results  were  practically 
nil.  I  then  gave  a  magnetic  seance  and  the  results  on  Eugene 
and  Mary  were  marked  and  positive." 
xxxvii  [  9  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

The  value  of  the  quotation  rests  solely  on  the  opportune 
remark  that  Braid  was  the  first  to  apply  the  name  hypnotism 
to  animal  magnetism.  One  should  not  forget  that  Eugene  and 
Mary  were  two  subjects  whom  Lafontaine  carried  with  him 
from  town  to  town  and  on  whom  he  could  rely  for  phenomena. 

Though  Braid  survived  his  discovery  by  not  more  than 
eighteen  years,  he  lived  to  know  that  it  was  well  on  the  road 
to  acceptance  by  the  competent  opinion  of  the  time.  In  the 
latter  part  of  his  life  he  said:  "I  feel  no  anxiety  for  the  fate  of 
hypnotism,  provided  it  only  has  *a  fair  field  and  no  favor.'  I 
am  content  to  bide  my  time,  in  the  firm  conviction  that  truth,  for 
which  alone  I  most  earnestly  strive,  with  the  discovery  of  the 
safest,  and  surest,  and  speediest  modes  of  relieving  human 
suffering,  will  ultimately  triumph  over  error"  ("Magic,  Witch," 

P-  53). 

The  enemies  of  Braid  were  as  vociferous  in  their  denuncia- 
tion of  him  as  his  friends  were  earnest  in  their  praise.  And 
what  may  seem  the  greatest  surprise  and  yet  what  seems  to  be 
a  natural  consequence  of  opposition,  the  Mesmerists  themselves 
were  the  ones  who  were  the  loudest  in  opposing  him.  However, 
his  method  has  stood  the  test  of  years  and  still  prevails  among 
those  who  practise  the  art  nowadays. 

As  was  said  before,  the  first  exhibition  that  Braid  ever 
attended  was  one  given  by  this  same  Lafontaine.  One  fact, 
the  inability  of  the  patient  to  open  his  eyelids,  arrested  his  atten- 
tion. He  considered  this  a  real  phenomenon  and  was  anxious 
to  discover  the  physiological  cause  of  it. 

"In  two  days  afterward,"  he  says,  "I  developed  my  views 
to  my  friend  Captain  Brown,  as  I  had  previously  done  to  four 
other  friends;  and  in  his  presence  and  that  of  my  family  and 
another  friend,  the  same  evening,  I  instituted  a  series  of  ex- 
periments to  prove  the  correctness  of  my  theory — namely  that 
the  continued  fixed  stare,  by  paralyzing  nervous  centres  in  the 
eyes  and  their  appendages  and  destroying  the  equilibrium  of 
the  nervous  system,  thus  proved  the  phenomenon  referred  to. 
The  experiments  were  varied  so  as  to  convince  all  present  that 
they  fully  bore  out  the  correctness  of  my  theoretical  views. 
My  first  object  was  to  prove  that  the  inability  of  the  patient  to 
xxxvn  [ lo ] 


HYPNOTISM 

open  his  eyes  was  caused  by  paralyzing  the  upper  muscles  of  the 
eyes,  through  their  continued  action  during  the  protracted 
fixed  stare,  and  thus  rendering  it  physically  impossible  for  him 
to  open  them.  With  the  view  of  proving  this,  I  requested  Mr. 
Walker,  a  young  gentlemen  present,  to  sit  down,  and  maintain 
a  fixed  stare  at  the  top  of  a  wine  bottle,  placed  so  much  above 
him  as  to  produce  a  considerable  strain  on  the  eyes  and  eyelids, 
to  enable  him  to  maintain  a  steady  view  of  the  object.  In  three 
minutes  his  eyelids  closed,  a  gush  of  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks, 
his  head  drooped,  his  face  was  slightly  convulsed,  he  gave  a 
groan  and  instantly  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  the  respiration 
becoming  slow,  deep,  and  sibilant,  the  right  hand  and  arm  being 
agitated  by  slight  convulsive  movements.  At  the  end  of  four 
minutes,  I  considered  it  necessary,  for  his  safety,  to  put  an  end 
to  the  experiment." 

Braid  became  so  convinced  that  his  interpretation  of  the 
phenomena  was  the  correct  one  that  he  used  it  universally, 
succeeding  in  a  remarkable  number  of  cases.  His  method 
was  as  follows: 

He  would  take  any  bright  object,  most  often  his  lancet  case, 
and,  holding  it  about  fifteen  inches  from  the  eyes,  and  in  such  a 
position  as  to  strain  them  and  still  allow  tiie  patient  to  gaze  stead- 
ily at  it,  he  would  carry  it  slowly  toward  them  until  the  eyelids 
closed  involuntarily.  After  a  preliminary  contraction  of  the 
pupils,  they  would  dilate,  and  finally  a  tremulous  motion  of  the 
iris  would  take  place.  If  this  did  not  succeed  after  a  few 
minutes,  he  would  try  again,  letting  the  patient  understand 
that  his  eyes  and  mind  had  to  be  riveted  on  the  one  idea  of  the 
object  before  him.  The  primary  fact  was  the  fixation  of  the 
mind  on  a  certain  object.  Nay,  even  the  hypnotist  himself,  if 
he  use  the  method  of  attraction,  may  be  hypnotized,  as  Braid 
shows  in  the  following  example.  Mr.  Walker,  Braid's  friend, 
offered  to  hypnotize  a  certain  person.  When  Braid  went  into 
the  room  where  the  experiment  was  going  on  he  saw  the  gen- 
tleman sitting  staring  at  Mr.  Walker's  finger.  Mr.  Walker 
was  standing  a  little  to  the  right  of  his  patient  with  his  eyes 
fixed  steadily  on  those  of  the  latter.  Braid  passed  on,  and 
when  he  returned  he  found  Mr.  Walker  standing  in  the  same 

XXXVII  [  II  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

position  fast  asleep,  his  arm  and  finger  perfectly  rigid  and  the 
patient  wide  awake,  staring  at  the  finger  all  the  while. 

After  Braid,  many  men  pursued  the  scientific  investigation 
of  the  phenomena.  The  interest  in  the  new  science  since  1875 
has  spread  quickly  over  Europe.  In  Belgium,  the  eminent 
psychologist  Delboeuf  of  Liege  made  a  path  for  it.  In  Holland 
such  men  as  Van  Reuterghem,  Van  Eiden,  and  De  Jong  used 
hypnotism  for  curative  purposes;  in  Denmark,  Norway,  and 
Sweden  there  were  Johannessen,  Sell,  Frankel,  Calsen,  and 
Wetterstrand,  of  Stockholm,  and  finally  Swedenborg.  In 
Russia  were  Strembo  and  Tokarski ;  in  Greece,  Italy,  and  Spain 
hypnotism  has  greatly  come  into  play  in  medical  treatment. 
In  England  Carpenter,  Laydock,  Sir  James  Simpson,  Lloyd- 
Tuckey,  Mayo,  and  others  have  used  it  for  curing  the  sick.  In 
America  the  science  also  has  its  advocates.  It  is  one  of  the 
subjects  constantly  appearing  before  the  Society  for  Psychical 
Research.  In  South  America  it  numbers  among  its  adherents 
David  Benavente  and  Octavio  Maria,  of  Chili.  The  interest 
in  hypnotism  in  France  centred  around  two  schools,  the 
school  of  Salpetriere  and  the  school  of  Nancy.  The  former 
was  led  by  Charcot,  whose  luminous  researches  in  this  subject 
are  epoch-making. 

The  Paris  school  held  that  hypnotism  is  the  result  of  an 
abnormal  or  diseased  condition  of  the  nervous  system;  that 
suggestion  is  not  at  all  necessary  to  produce  the  phenomena; 
that  hysterical  subjects  are  the  most  easily  influenced;  and  that 
the  whole  subject  is  explainable  on  the  basis  of  cerebral  anatomy 
and  physiology.  But  lately  the  followers  of  Charcot,  who 
had  been  numerous  in  the  beginning  because  he  was  so  highly 
reliable  a  man,  have  begun  to  dwindle  away  and  have  turned 
to  the  school  of  Nancy.  The  reason  for  this  is  obvious  to  any 
one  who  has  studied  hypnotic  phenomena.  The  first  objection 
to  the  school  of  Salpetriere  is  that  most  of  the  experiments 
have  been  made  on  hysterical  women.  In  the  second  place, 
this  school  ignores  suggestion,  which  has  been  found  to  be  one 
of  the  most  important  factors  in  hypnotism.  They  appreciate 
of  course  that  it  can  be  used,  but  as/;ert  that  it  is  not  necessary. 

The  school  of  Nancy,  led  by  Bernheim,  met  with  equal 
XXXVII  [12  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

success  and  is  now  upheld  by  more  people  than  the  other  school. 
The  theory  of  the  school  of  Nancy  may  be  summed  up  in  a  few 
words :  first,  the  different  psychological  conditions  in  the  hypnotic 
state  are  determined  by  mental  action;  secondly,  people  of  good 
sound  physical  health  and  of  perfect  mental  balance  can  pro- 
duce the  best  results;  and  thirdly,  all  the  mental  and  physical 
actions  are  the  results  of  suggestion.  In  fact  suggestion  is  the 
all- important  factor  in  producing  the  various  phenomena. 

Liebault  and  Bernheim,  his  pupil,  by  bringing  forth  the 
idea  of  suggestion,  have  made  themselves  in  a  way  the  equal  of 
Braid,  for  in  continuation  of  the  latter's  method  the  method  of 
the  former  is  always  used  nowadays.  The  influence  of  Bern- 
heim over  his  patients  is  remarkable.  His  great  success  may 
be  accounted  for  by  the  confidence  his  patients  have  in  him. 
Of  course  the  low  intellectual  state  of  the  peasant  class  of  France 
may  have  something  to  do  with  it,  for  one  can  hardly  think  that 
in  any  ordinary  community  this  supreme  belief  and  trust  in 
a  human  being  could  exist.  To  Nancy  people  come  from  all 
over  the  provinces  to  visit  this  *'Man  of  God,"  who  performs 
experiments  and  cures  which  seem  divine.  Bernheim  goes 
from  one  patient  to  another,  shouting*' Sleep  I"  Many  of  them 
having  been  hypnotized  by  him  often,  fall  into  the  state  im- 
mediately. When  the  experiments  are  over  he  goes  the  rounds 
of  his  patients,  snapping  his  fingers,  in  which  way  he  awakens 
them. 

To  sum  up,  then,  we  may  say  the  history  of  hypnotism  may 
be  divided  into  five  epochs.  The  first,  before  the  time  of 
Mesmer;  the  second,  the  age  of  Mesmerism,  when  personal 
magnetism  was  supposed  to  be  the  attractive  power;  the  third, 
the  age  of  Braid,  when  the  science  was  put  on  a  physiological 
basis;  the  fourth,  the  age  of  Bernheim  and  Charcot,  when  the 
idea  of  suggestion  was  brought  to  the  front  and  hypnotism 
was  used  indiscriminately;  and  lastly,  the  fifth,  the  age  we  are 
in  now,  where  the  tendency  is  to  restrict  hypnotism  and  to 
classify  it  for  specific  uses. 


XXXVII  [  13  ] 


HYPNOTISM 


The  Nature  of  Hypnotism. 


Each  individual  has  a  separate  state  of  consciousness  which 
changes  as  do  the  thoughts  therein.  It  is  in  the  waking  state 
that  we  have  separate  individuahties.  Now  let  us  see  the 
gradations  of  this  consciousness.  At  this  present  moment  we 
shall  say  we  are  listening  intently  to  a  sermon.  That  is  the 
thing  uppermost  in  our  minds,  and  as  long  as  our  minds  are 
upon  it  we  are  exercising  acute  consciousness.  But,  even  if  our 
attention  to  this  sermon  is  the  central  thing,  in  the  fringe  of 
our  mental  picture  a  number  of  other  thoughts  are  jumping 
around,  any  one  of  which  may  be  powerful  enough  to  force  its 
way  into  the  middle  of  the  picture  and  to  usurp  its  place.  For 
example,  all  the  while  we  are  listening  to  this  sermon  we  are 
more  or  less  conscious  that  the  seats  we  are  in  are  hard,  that 
somebody  is  talking  next  to  us,  etc.  Our  seats  may  become 
so  uncomfortable  that  it  may  occupy  our  whole  attention,  or 
something  outside  may  seem  of  more  interest.  If  our  attention 
jumps  from  one  thing  to  another,  this  is  called  diffused  con- 
sciousness. The  next  step  to  diffused  consciousness  is  the 
dreamy  state  where  the  mind  is  half  way  between  waking 
and  sleep.  Anything  may  come  into  the  mind  while  in  this 
state  and  be  the  predominant  idea,  to  be  chased  out  again  by 
a  next  idea.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  dreams  usually  present 
such  a  chaos  and  jumble.  Our  thoughts  tumble  over  one  an- 
other to  get  from  the  fringe  of  consciousness  to  the  foreground. 
Any  external  sensation  will  be  greatly  exaggerated  and  may 
turn  the  trend  of  our  thought.  A  warm  bed  might  feel  like 
the  fire  of  hell,  a  heavy  dinner  with  indigestion  like  the  battles 
of  heroes  using  our  poor  bodies  as  the  fighting  ground.  As 
dreams  gradually  fade  away  we  approach  our  first  hypnosis  or 
sleep,  which,  in  the  beginning,  is  slight,  but  gradually  deepens, 
finally  consciousness  being  entirely  lost. 

Thus  we  have  traced  the  process  of  natural  sleep  to  which 
hypnotic  sleep  is  closely  akin.  The  person  at  first  has  a  diffused 
attention,  he  then  confines  his  attention  to  sleep,  he  next  passes 
into  a  dreaming  state,  then  into  a  light  sleep  and  lastly  into  a 
deep  sleep. 

XXXVII  [  14  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

The  differences  between  it  and  natural  sleep  are  as  follows : 
first,  the  state  ordinarily  is  produced  by  another;  secondly,  the 
person  must  have  faith;  and  thirdly,  the  phenomena  in  the  sleep 
must  be  produced  by  suggestion.  The  two  latter  were  fully 
recognized  years  ago  and  have  formed  the  basis  of  all  psychical 
cures  ever  since.  How  the  sleep  can  be  produced  by  another 
was  seen  in  the  experiments  of  Braid,  where  one  appreciates 
fully  that  the  person  really  hypnotizes  himself  by  gazing  at  an 
object.  The  full  understanding  between  hypnotized  and 
hypnotist  has  never  been  really  understood,  and  so  here  we  are 
stopped  short. 

The  theory  of  Dr.  Hudson  may  put  us  on  the  right  track. 
Because  it  is  so  convenient  a  theory  and  tends  to  make  plausible 
a  number  of  things  which  otherwise  could  not  be  understood, 
I  am  going  to  take  the  Hberty  of  detailing  it  here.  Dr.  Hudson 
claims  that  every  normal  person  is  possessed  of  two  minds, 
a  subjective  one  and  an  objective  one.  The  objective  mind 
is  the  one  we  use  every  day,  a  mind  fully  capable  of  forgetting 
and  the  only  one  of  which  we  are  ordinarily  cognizant.  The 
subjective  mind  is  the  perfect  mind  wherein  are  stored  up  all 
the  numerous  thoughts  that  have  ever  come  into  it,  there  lying 
dormant,  only  to  be  reawakened  when  a  new  set  of  associations 
brings  them  forth. 

It  is  this  mind  which  we  may  say  is  used  in  hypnotism,  in 
somnambulism,  the  one  which  shows  itself  in  altered  personality 
and  in  various  other  abnormalities.  Some  authors  consider 
this  the  subliminal  or  subconscious  mind.* 

That  there  is  another  mind  far  more  perfect  and  which  brings 
to  our  recollection  many  things  forgotten,  seems  to  be  an  un- 
disputed fact.  When  a  drug  like  Cannabis  indica  is  used,  or 
when  a  person  is  drowning,  there  come  before  his  mind's  eye, 
in  a  single  moment,  the  doings  of  years.  And  so  in  some  re- 
corded cases  of  trance  states  the  same  thing  is  proved.     A 

'  One  cannot  help  realizing  that  this  theory  will  never  be  fully  ac- 
cepted. Most  psychologists  are  still  quarrelling  over  concepts,  and  no 
two  will  agree  as  to  what  is  meant  by  a  subjective  or  an  objective 
mind. 

XXXVII  [  15  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

highly  interesting  case  is  given  by  Mr.  Coleridge  in  his  "  Bio- 
graphica  Literaria." 

Mr.  Coleridge  says: 

"It  occurred  in  a  Roman  Catholic  town  in  Germany,  a  year 
or  two  before  my  arrival  at  Gottingen,  and  had  not  then  ceased 
to  be  a  frequent  subject  of  conversation.  A  young  woman  of 
four  or  five  and  twenty,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write, 
was  seized  with  a  nervous  fever,  during  which,  according  to  the 
asseverations  of  all  the  priests  and  monks  of  the  neighborhood, 
she  became  possessed,  and  as  it  appeared,  by  a  very  learned  devil. 
She  continued  incessantly  talking  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew, 
in  very  pompous  tones,  and  with  a  most  distinct  enunciation. 
This  possession  was  rendered  more  probable  by  the  known  fact 
that  she  was,  or  had  been,  a  heretic.  The  case  had  attracted 
the  particular  attention  of  a  young  physician,  and  by  his  state- 
ment many  eminent  physiologists  and  psychologists  visited 
the  town  and  cross  examined  the  case  on  the  spot.  Sheets 
full  of  her  ravings  were  taken  down  from  her  own  mouth  and 
were  found  to  consist  of  sentences,  coherent  and  intelligible 
each  for  itself,  but  with  little  or  no  connection  with  each  other. 
Of  the  Hebrew,  a  small  portion  only  could  be  traced  to  the  Bible ; 
the  remainder  seemed  to  be  in  Rabbinical  dialect.  All  trick 
or  conspiracy  was  out  of  the  question.  Not  only  had  the  young 
woman  been  a  harmless  simple  creature,  but  she  was  evidently 
under  a  nervous  fever.  In  the  town  in  which  she  had  been 
resident  for  many  years  as  a  servant  in  different  families,  no 
solution  presented  itself.  The  young  physician,  however, 
determined  to  trace  her  past  life,  step  by  step;  for  the  patient 
herself  was  incapable  of  returning  a  rational  answer.  He  at 
length  succeeded  in  discovering  the  place  where  her  parents 
had  lived,  travelled  thither,  found  them  both  dead,  but  an  uncle 
surviving,  and  from  him  learned  that  the  patient  had  been 
charitably  taken  by  an  old  Protestant  pastor  at  nine  years  old, 
and  had  remained  with  him  some  years,  even  till  the  old  man's 
death.  Of  this  pastor  the  uncle  knew  nothing,  but  that  he  was 
a  very  good  man.  With  great  difficulty  and  after  much  search, 
our  young  medical  philosopher  discovered  a  niece  of  the  pastor's, 
who  had  lived  with  him  as  housekeeper  and  had  inherited  his 
xxxvn  [ i6 ] 


HYPNOTISM 

effects.  She  remembered  the  girl;  related  that  her  venerable 
uncle  had  been  too  indulgent,  and  could  not  hear  the  girl  scolded ; 
that  she  was  willing  to  have  kept  her,  but  that,  after  her  parents' 
death,  the  girl  herself  refused  to  stay.  Anxious  inquiries  were 
then,  of  course,  made  concerning  the  pastor's  habits;  and  the 
solution  of  the  phenomenon  was  soon  obtained.  For  it  ap- 
peared that  it  had  been  the  old  man's  custom  for  years  to  walk 
up  and  down  a  passage  of  his  house  into  which  the  kitchen 
door  opened,  and  to  read  to  himself,  with  a  loud  voice,  out  of 
his  favorite  books.  A  considerable  number  of  these  were  still 
in  the  niece's  possession.  She  added  that  he  was  a  very  learned 
man  and  a  great  Hebraist.  Among  the  books  was  found  a 
collection  of  Rabbinical  writings,  together  with  several  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  fathers;  and  the  physician  succeeded  in 
identifying  so  many  passages  with  those  taken  down  at  the 
young  woman's  bedside  that  no  doubt  could  remain  in  any 
rational  mind  concerning  the  true  origin  of  the  impression  made 
on  her  nervous  system." 

The  same  power  of  the  subjective  mind  is  many  times 
seen  in  hypnotic  phenomena.  The  case  cited  is  but  one  of  a 
number,  all  of  which  are  just  as  wonderful.  Being  a  mind  so 
perfectly  endowed,  it  is  hardly  too  audacious  to  say  that  this 
mind  exercises  its  influence  over  all  bodily  functions,  so  that  any 
function  may  be  inhibited  or  accelerated  by  its  influence.  For 
example,  the  following  is  related  of  Henry  Clay. 

''On  one  occasion  he  was  unexpectedly  called  upon  to 
answer  an  opponent  who  addressed  the  Senate  on  a  question 
in  which  Clay  was  deeply  interested.  The  latter  felt  too  ill 
to  reply  at  length.  It  seemed  imperative,  however,  that  he 
should  say  something;  and  he  exacted  a  promise  from  a  friend 
who  sat  behind  him  that  he  would  stop  him  at  the  end  of  ten 
minutes.  Accordingly,  at  the  expiration  of  the  prescribed  time 
the  friend  gently  pulled  the  skirts  of  Mr.  Clay's  coat.  No 
attention  was  paid  to  the  hint,  and  after  a  brief  time  it  was 
repeated  a  little  more  imperatively.  Still  Clay  paid  no  attention 
and  it  was  again  repeated.  Then  a  pin  was  brought  into  re- 
quisition; but  Clay  was  by  that  time  thoroughly  aroused,  and 
was  pouring  forth  a  torrent  of  eloquence.  The  pin  was  inserted 
XXXVII  [  17  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

deeper  and  deeper  into  the  orator's  leg  without  eliciting  any 
response,  until  his  friend  gave  up  in  despair.  Finally  Mr. 
Clay  happened  to  glance  at  the  clock  and  saw  that  he  had  been 
speaking  two  hours;  whereupon  he  fell  into  his  friend's  arms, 
completely  overcome  by  exhaustion,  upbraiding  his  friend 
severely  for  not  stopping  him  at  the  prescribed  time. 

The  fact  that  Mr.  Clay,  on  that  occasion,  made  one  of  the 
ablest  speeches  of  his  life,  two  hours  in  length,  at  a  time  when 
he  felt  almost  too  ill  to  rise  to  his  feet,  and  that  his  body  was  at 
the  time  in  a  condition  of  perfect  anaesthesia,  is  a  splendid  illus- 
tration of  the  synchronous  action  of  the  two  minds,  and  also 
of  the  perfect  control  exercised  by  the  subjective  mind  over 
the  functions  and  sensations  of  the  body  ("Law  of  Psychic 
Phenomena"). 

I  now  propose  to  attempt  to  explain  some  of  the  phenomena 
of  hypnotism  by  reviewing  thoroughly  a  specific  example. 

On  November  23, 1901, 1  was  asked  by  a  young  lady  to  try  to 
cure  her  of  biting  her  fingernails.  She  was  then  about  eighteen 
years  of  age.  I  immediately  replied  that  I  should  be  glad  to 
do  so  if  I  had  her  full  permission.  Besides  her  and  myself, 
there  were  four  or  five  other  persons  in  the  room,  including 
her  father  and  mother.  Getting  her  perfectly  composed,  I 
placed  my  hand  on  the  top  of  her  head,  and  told  her  to  turn 
her  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  hand.  This  tired  her  eyes 
very  readily.  They  became  heavier,  the  eyelids  twitched  and 
inside  of  five  minutes  they  fell  and  she  was  sound  asleep. 
I  first  placed  her  in  a  cataleptic  condition.  I  told  her  her  arm 
was  a  piece  of  stone  and  therefore  could  not  be  bent.  Two  or 
three  of  those  assembled  tried  to  bend  it,  but  failed.  Then  by 
more  suggestions  I  placed  her  in  an  anaesthetic  condition  and 
rubbed  the  ball  of  her  eye.  She  neither  winked  nor  flinched. 
I  then  gave  her  a  few  post-hypnotic  suggestions.  For  example, 
I  told  her  that  when  she  awakened  she  would  go  over  and  close 
the  window,  that  she  would  then  thank  me  for  what  I  h^d  done, 
and  would  feel  no  bad  effects  and  also  would  remember  nothing. 
Then  I  told  her  that  the  following  Sunday  I  would  come  over, 
and,  as  soon  as  I  told  her  to  go  to  sleep,  she  would  do  so.  When 
she  awoke,  she  went  over  and  closed  the  window,  and  then 
XXXVII  [  18  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

thanked  me  for  what  I  had  done.  She  remembered  nothing  and 
felt  much  rested.  Of  course,  suggestions  were  constantly  given 
that  she  would  not  bite  her  nails. 

The  following  Sunday,  I  went  over  there  again.  She  had 
not  bitten  her  fingernails  since  the  last  time  I  saw  her.  I 
told  her  to  lie  down  and  that  in  three  minutes  she  would  be 
sound  asleep.  I  used  no  method  whatsoever.  In  fact,  I  was 
in  another  room.  When  the  three  minutes  were  up,  I  went 
in  to  her  and  found  her  in  a  deep  sleep.  I  impressed  on  her  a 
number  of  times  that  she  would  never  bite  her  fingernails  again. 
I  placed  her  in  a  chair,  telHng  her  to  open  her  eyes.  She  was 
to  see  or  hear  nobody  but  me.  A  number  of  people  stood  be- 
fore her,  but  she  could  not  see  them.  I  asked  her  a  question 
which  she  readily  answered.  Then  somebody  else  asked  her 
the  same  question,  but  no  answer  could  be  got  from  her.  She 
seemed  perfectly  deaf  to  their  words.  I  asked  her  if  she  heard 
anybody  else  and  she  answered  "No."  I  next  procured  a  needle 
which  was  perfectly  clean,  and  telhng  her  she  would  feel  no  pain 
I  ran  it  into  her  forearm  for  over  half  an  inch.  Very  little  blood 
appeared,  as  I  had  suggested,  and  she  felt  nothing.  In  fact, 
after  the  experiments  were  over  she  did  not  know  anything 
about  the  wound.  Taking  a  glass  of  water,  I  told  her  it  was 
whiskey.  She  took  a  little  with  some  show  of  difficulty  in 
swallowing,  and  when  I  told  her  to  walk  about  the  room  she 
reeled  around  as  though  she  were  overcome  by  the  liquor.  I 
then  procured  some  salt,  telling  her  it  was  sugar  and  that  it 
would  cure  her  of  her  dizziness  immediately.  She  took  the  salt, 
a  half  teaspoonf ul,  said  it  tasted  sweet,  asked  for  more,  and  was 
entirely  herself  again.  Finally  I  placed  her  between  two  people, 
putting  her  head  on  one's  lap  and  her  feet  on  the  other's.  She 
became  cataleptic  on  my  suggestion  and  when  two  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  were  put  on  her  body  she  sustained  them  very 
readily. 

Before  she  awakened  I  gave  her  three  suggestions:  (i) 
That  as  soon  as  she  awoke  she  would  go  into  the  front  room  and 
lie  down  on  the  sofa  for  a  few  minutes;  (2)  that  she  would  go  up 
to  her  parents  and  tell  them  that  she  was  never  going  to  bite 
her  nails  again;  and  (3)  that  two  weeks  from  that  night  she 
XXXVII  [  19  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

would  sit  down  after  supper  and  write  me  a  letter,  thanking  me 
for  what  I  had  done.  All  these  suggestions  were  carried  into 
effect. 

On  Monday,  December  9,  two  weeks  and  a  day  after  the 
experiment  had  been  made,  I  received  the  following  letter : 

icT^  AT      TT  "  Dec.  8th,  1901. 

**  Dear  Mr.  Hays: 

*  *  I  feel  as  though  I  owe  you  a  note  of  thanks  for  the  wonderful 
cure  you  have  effected  on  me.  I  have  not  bitten  my  nails  since  three 
weeks  ago  to-night,  and  lam  very  proud  of  them.  I  am  writing  this 
to  try  to  let  you  know  how  much  I  thank  you.  It  seems  remarkable 
that  a  little  thing  like  hypnotism  can  do  so  much  good,  and  I  shall  al- 
ways feel  grateful  and  indebted  to  you  for  this. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"E." 

Not  until  after  the  letter  had  been  sent  did  she  find  out  that 
it  had  been  I  who  prompted  her  to  do  it.  This  young  lady 
has  not  bitten  her  fingernails  since  and  is  entirely  cured. 

We  have  already  found  the  primary  cause  of  the  sleep  when 
produced  by  the  tiring  of  the  eyes.  The  eyehds  droop  because 
the  muscles  become  temporarily  paralyzed.  There  is  one  ad- 
vantage in  placing  the  hand  on  top  of  the  head.  It  is  that  it 
rolls  the  eyeballs  upward,  thus  putting  them  in  a  natural  position 
for  sleep.  The  various  other  processes  after  the  sleep  has  been 
produced  are  all  dependent  on  the  workings  of  the  nervous 
system.  Let  us  first  try  to  explain  the  cataleptic  state — how 
it  is  that  the  arm  becomes  so  rigid  that  the  bones  can  be  broken 
before  the  arm  will  bend.  The  most  plausible  explanation  to 
my  mind  is  that  impulses  are  sent  from  the  brain  which  make 
one  set  of  muscles  counteract  the  influence  of  another  set.  For 
example,  let  us  say  that  two  men  of  equal  strength  are  pulling 
with  all  their  might  on  a  thick  stick.  As  long  as  the  pull  is  the 
same  on  both  sides,  the  stick  won't  move.  How  the  mind  can 
exert  such  an  influence  we  do  not  know.  This  same  idea  of  the 
counteraction  of  various  muscles  applies  to  the  whole  body  as 
well  as  to  one  arm.  Yet  some  one  may  ask  how  these  muscles 
can  have  the  power  to  stand  more  strain  than  they  do  in  the 
waking  state.  It  is  only  that  as  our  normal  selves  we  never  use 
XXXVII  [  20  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

our  full  muscle  power.  This  is  because  not  enough  stimulation 
is  ever  given  to  the  muscle  to  make  it  work  to  its  full  extent. 
But  in  cases  of  great  excitement  or  danger  even  the  weakest 
seem  to  have  superhuman  strength. 

The  loss  of  the  sense  of  pain  or  anaesthesia  can  also  be  ac- 
counted for  by  the  brain.  When  we  say  we  have  a  pain  in  our 
finger,  we  don't  really  mean  that.  The  cut  is  in  the  finger,  but 
the  pain  is  in  the  brain,  and  consciousness  is  necessary  for  us  to 
have  pain.  Suppose  a  man  is  going  to  have  an  operation  on 
his  finger  and  is  made  unconscious.  Now  the  finger  is  there, 
but  the  pain  has  disappeared,  showing  that  pain  is  not  located 
in  various  parts  of  the  body,  but  in  the  domain  of  consciousness. 
So  if,  under  hypnotic  influence,  you  tell  the  patient  that  he  will 
have  no  pain,  he  thinks  the  pain  away,  so  to  speak — knocks  it 
out  of  his  consciousness. 

How  we  can  run  needles  into  people  and  produce  no  blood 
seems  still  more  remarkable,  but  physiologically  it  can  be  ex- 
plained. Let  me  say  here  that  if  any  one  should  pierce  a  large 
artery  with  a  needle  serious  consequences  might  result.  Let 
us  say  that  we  penetrate  the  skin  in  a  place  where  there  are 
thousands  of  little  capillaries.  Each  one  of  these  vessels  is 
connected  with  the  nervous  system  by  two  sets  of  nerve  fibres 
— those  which  can  dilate  the  vessels,  those  which  can  constrict 
them.  Now,  suppose  I  give  the  suggestion  that  I  am  going  to 
run  a  needle  through  a  certain  part  of  the  arm.  An  impulse, 
sent  from  the  brain,  constricts  the  blood-vessels  at  this  spot, 
inhibits  the  sense  of  pain,  and  the  needle  comes  out  again  with- 
out a  drop  of  blood  following  it. 

The  explanation  of  the  dizziness  from  water  supposed  to  be 
whiskey  and  the  cure  by  salt  supposed  to  be  ^ugar  is  that  both 
are  the  result  of  an  unexplainable  force  whereby  the  patient 
takes  every  word  of  the  hypnotizer  as  gospel,  though  it  is  con- 
tradictory to  his  own  ideas.  For  example,  in  one  case  a  patient 
told  me  that  he  knew  the  glass  contained  water  and  yet  it 
tasted  like  whiskey,  and  he  also  knew  that  the  cellar  contained 
salt  and  yet  it  tasted  like  sugar. 

The  cure  of  the  fingernail  habit  and  all  the  post-hypnotic 
suggestions  may  be  summed  up  briefly.  All  we  should  do  is 
xxxvn  [  21  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

to  refer  back  to  the  perfect  or  subjective  mind,  where  all  these 
suggestions  are  stored  up,  and  say  that  the  objective  mind  draws 
nutriment  from  it,  and  in  this  nutriment  these  suggestions  given 
under  the  hypnotic  influence  come  into  play. 

Before  closing  this  portion  of  the  essay  I  should  like  to  say 
that  I  beheve  hypnotism  is  not  an  occult  power,  but  is  a  simple, 
natural,  physiological  process.  And  again,  anybody  can  use 
the  power  just  as  any  one  can  become  a  good  piano  player,  or 
student,  or  business  man  by  training.  Yet  it  is  only  those  with 
the  natural  tendency  toward  personal  power  who  will  make 
the  greatest  success. 

It  would  indeed  be  pleasing  to  me  to  cite  a  number  of  worf- 
derful  cases  where  hypnotism  has  been  used  experimentally  in 
order  to  show  the  great  influence  of  the  mind  over  the  body — 
how  a  horse  can  be  ridden  over  the  outstretched  body  of  a  man  in 
a  cataleptic  state,  how  illusions  and  hallucinations  can  be  pro- 
duced, how  we  may  even  obtain  negative  hallucinations,  how 
we  can  turn  an  adult  into  a  child,  how  we  can  conjure  before 
the  mind's  eye  vistas  grand  and  superb,  panoramas  gorgeous 
and  elegant,  how  the  commonest  man  may  become  an  orator, 
a  saint,  an  assassin  perhaps.  But  all  these  things  would  be  far 
beyond  the  scope  of  this  essay.  However,  one  case  seems  to  be 
of  especial  interest,  as  it  shows  how  far  hypnotism  may  be  used 
in  the  cure  of  various  inflammations. 

"  The  experiment  is  on  a  nurse  twenty-eight  years  old,  who  is 
not  at  all  hysterical.  She  is  a  daughter  of  plain  country  people, 
and  has  been  for  a  long  time  an  attendant  in  the  Zurich  Lunatic 
Asylum,  which  Forel  directs.  He  thinks  her  a  capable,  honest  per- 
son, in  no  way  inclined  to  deceit.  The  experiments  were  as  fol- 
lows: A  gummed. label  was  fixed  upon  her  chest  on  either  side; 
the  paper  was  square.  In  no  case  was  an  irritating  gum  used. 
At  midday  Forel  suggested  that  a  blister  had  been  put  on  the 
left  side ;  and  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  a  moist  spot  had  ap- 
peared in  that  place;  the  skin  was  swollen  and  red  around  it, 
and  a  little  inflammation  also  appeared  on  the  right  side,  but 
much  less.  Forel  then  did  away  with  the  suggestion.  On  the 
next  day  there  was  a  scab  on  the  left  side.  Forel  had  not 
watched  the  nurse  between  noon  and  six  o'clock,  but  had 

XXXVII  [  22  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

suggested  that  she  could  not  scratch  herself.  The  other 
nurses  said  that  the  subject  could  not  raise  her  hand  to  her 
chest,  but  made  vain  attempts  to  scratch.  Forel  repeated  the 
experiment  later;  he  put  on  the  paper  at  11:45  ^•^'  ^^nd  or- 
dered the  formation  of  blisters  in  two  and  one-half  hours. 
Little  pain  was  suggested,  and  the  nurse  therefore  complained 
but  little.  At  two  o'clock  Forel  looked  at  the  paper  on  the  left 
side,  for  which  the  suggestion  had  been  made,  and  saw  around 
it  a  large  swelling  and  reddening  of  the  skin.  The  paper 
could  with  difficulty  be  removed.  A  moist  surface  of  epider- 
mis was  then  visible,  exactly  square  like  the  paper.  There 
was  nothing  particular  under  the  paper  on  the  right  side. 
Forel  then  suggested  the  disappearance  of  the  pain,  inflam- 
mation, etc." 

In  time  everything  disappeared. 

Many  investigators  have  been  able  to  bring  about  a  change 
in  blood  supply  and  other  visceral  changes  of  a  similar  kind. 
Changes  in  temperature  have  been  made  as  much  as  three 
degrees  centigrade.  Bernheim  found  that  by  suggestion  he 
could  induce  local  reddening  of  the  skin.  This  is  undoubted- 
ly a  vasomotor  change.  These  local  red  spots  were  often  found 
in  the  Middle  Ages  on  the  hands  of  monks  and  nuns  after  they 
had  been  looking  steadily  at  a  cross  for  hours.  At  that  time 
it  was  supposed  to  be  a  miracle  and  a  message  from  the  Divinity. 
In  i860,  a  woman  was  found  with  these  spots  or  blisters  caused 
by  something  unknown.  It  was  learned  that  she  got  these 
while  in  the  hypnotic  state.  The  wounds  healed  in  the  nor- 
mal way,  and  all  that  remained  to  make  it  necessary  for  it  to  be 
commented  upon  was  that  it  gave  the  investigators  the  idea  of 
trying  to  produce  these  spots  by  artificial  means.  Krafft-Ebing, 
a  noted  German  physician,  produced  certain  results  analogous  to 
those  cited  above.  He  would  put  something  in  the  patient's 
hand  and  give  him  the  suggestion  that  it  was  burning.  A  red- 
dening would  appear.  He  would  take  a  scissors,  a  piece  of 
metal,  and  a  postage  stamp  (saying  it  was  a  mustard  plaster), 
and  would  produce  the  same  results. 

Wonderful  as  it  may  seem — that  hypnotic  suggestion  can 
produce  such  grave  organic  changes — the  physician  has  only  to 
XXX vn  [  23  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

reflect  for  a  moment  on  the  powerful  changes  which  the  mind 
exerts  over  the  course  of  a  disease.  He  realizes  only  too  well 
that  the  mental  attitude  of  the  patient  toward  his  malady  is 
of  almost  as  much  importance  in  the  cure  as  the  therapeutic 
measures  he  may  advise.  Processes  of  inflammation  are  purely 
physiological  in  the  light  of  modern  medicine,  and  yet  there  can 
be  no  inflammatory  process  which  cannot  be  made  worse  by 
concentrated  mental  worry.  A  sore  finger  to  the  phlegmatic 
individual  is  a  trifle:  but  the  hysterical  woman  makes  a  "moun- 
tain out  of  a  mole  hill"  of  it  and  thereby  actually  makes  the 
inflammation  worse. 


The  Uses  of  Hypnotism. 

The  general  tendency  has  been  in  the  last  decade  to  use 
hypnotism  indiscriminately;  but,  like  every  therapeutic  agent, 
it  in  time  will  become  restricted  and  used  only  in  certain  com- 
plaints. It  surely  should  be  included  by  every  physician  in 
his  ''therapeutic  arsenal."  It  has  one  thing  in  its  favor  which 
places  it  above  all  remedial  agents,  and  that  is  that  when  it  is 
used  properly  it  can  do  no  harm.  We  must  recognize  that  in  all 
the  scientific  literature  on  the  subject  there  has  not  a  single 
death  been  reported  from  its  use.  The  unscientific  application 
is  its  abuse. 

We  must  also  recognize  that  there  are  many  cases  that 
are  practically  incurable  by  medical  treatment,  cases  which 
defy  the  greatest  physicians,  cases  which  are  surprising  because 
of  their  persistency.  When  the  last  extreme  has  been  reached, 
when  physicians  consult  and  pronounce  the  case,  as  practically 
incurable,  hypnotism  may  be  tried. 

Before  the  advent  of  ether  or  chloroform,  the  possibility  of 
using  hypnotism  for  anaesthetic  purposes  was  thought  of  and 
apparently  its  use  in  this  direction  met  with  success  in  a  limited 
number  of  cases.  In  1859,  Dr.  Gu^rineau  announced  that  he 
had  amputated  a  thigh  under  hypnotic  anaesthesia.  Some 
other  reports  are  as  follows:  Jules  Cloquent  amputated  a 
breast  in  1845;  Dr.  Loysel  of  Cherbourg  amputated  a  leg  and 
XXXVII  [  24  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

removed  some  glands  in  1846;  a  double  amputation  of  the  legs 
by  Drs.  Fanton  and  Toswel  in  1845;  amputation  of  an  arm 
by  Dr.  Joly  in  1845;  and  in  1847  ^  tumor  of  the  jaw  was  re- 
moved by  Drs.  Ribaud  and  Kiaro  of  Poitiers — all  under  hypnotic 
anaesthesia  (Bernheim's  *^ Suggestive  Therapeutics"). 

But  hypnotism  was  found  to  have  more  drawbacks  than 
advantages  in  these  cases  of  major  surgery.  In  the  first  place, 
hypnotic  anaesthesia  is  a  difficult  state  to  produce  and  even  a 
more  difficult  state  to  maintain.  Secondly,  there  is  always  the 
possibility  of  the  patient  awakening  unexpectedly  and  dying 
from  the  shock  of  the  operation. 

Although  it  has  thus  fallen  out  of  use  as  an  anaesthetic  in 
these  serious  cases,  still  it  is  used  constantly,  and  more  and 
more  every  day,  in  minor  surgery.  In  dentistry  it  certainly 
has  its  place;  in  outpatient  departments  of  our  hospitals  it  is 
often  of  value,  as  it  has  no  after-effects. 

The  various  medical  cases  that  have  been  treated  by 
the  hypnotic  method  are  too  numerous  to  recount.  They  in- 
clude nearly  every  form  of  mental  non-equilibrium  and  also 
cases  of  general  organic  trouble  dependent  more  or  less  on  the 
mental  attitude  of  the  patient.  They  include  habits  of  various 
kinds,  such  as  onychophagie  or  fingernail  biting,  excessive 
smoking,  dypsomania,  nervous  twitchings,  etc.,  nervous  head- 
aches, insomnia  and  neuralgias;  chronic  nervous  constipation 
and  diarrhoea  and  dyspepsia;  local  and  general  pain,  insom- 
nia and  neurasthenia.  Nor  is  this  all.  Hypnotism's  greatest 
blessing  consists  in  the  cure  of  psychic  paralytics  and  psychic 
hysterics.  In  this  connection  we  may  say  that  it  should  be 
used  unconditionally.  Dr.  Starr  in  a  lecture  at  the  College  of 
Physicians  and  Surgeons  cited  a  case  of  paralysis  in  the  left 
arm  from  the  shoulder  to  the  elbow.  A  physician  knows  that 
it  is  impossible  to  get  a  true  paralysis  of  this  kind.  Dr.  Starr 
hypnotized  the  patient  in  his  clinic  and  in  less  than  three 
minutes  the  arm  was  in  as  good  working  order  as  ever.  During 
the  course  of  the  past  year,  I  have  worked  on  a  few  hysterical 
cases  for  physicians  where  nothing  but  hypnotism  could  cure 
them.  A  remarkable  case  of  true  organic  nature  came  to  my 
notice  over  a  year  ago.  A  lady  had  a  severe  swelling  on  her 
XXXVII  [  25  ] 


HYPNOTISM 

finger  which  was  so  painful  that  I  could  hardly  bandage  it  for 
her.  I^put  her  to  sleep,  suggested  the  pain  away,  told  her  the 
inflammation  would  subside  the  next  day  and  awakened  her. 
I  could  then  do  anything  I  wished  to  the  finger  without  hurting 
her. 

I  have  left  aside  the  part  that  hypnotism  plays  in  mental 
and  moral  culture — a  phase  of  the  subject  so  vast  that  it  deserves 
more  consideration  than  could  be  given  here,  but  the  possibilities 
of  which  must  suggest  themselves  to  all. 


XXXVII  [  26  ] 


XXXVIII 


THE  WILL 

"ITS  CULTIVATION  AND   POWER" 

BY 

JULES  FINOT 


f^LOSE  allied  to  hypnotism  and  the  vast  field  of  new  thoughts, 
^  new  possibilities,  which  it  is  opening  to  man,  come  the 
problems  and  possibilities  of  the  Will.  Its  power  may  be  de- 
veloped, trained,  strengthened  most  amazingly,  aroused  to  special 
lines  oj  effort,  set  to  special  duties.  Among  the  most  interesting, 
perhaps  the  most  valuable  of  its  possibilities,  is  that  here  dis- 
cussed by  M.  Jules  Finot,  the  noted  editor  of  the  Paris  Revue. 
Can  life  be  visibly  and  definitely  prolonged,  not  at  some  distant 
day  by  our  far-off  descendants,  but  here  and  now,  for  each  and 
every  one  of  us,  usefully,  by  the  rightful  direction  of  the  will? 

What  chances,  what  possibilities,  does  science  thus  hold 
out  to  us!  What  shifting  of  the  whole  machinery  of  civilization 
if  we  may  continue  our  individual  work  and  our  progress  f~ 
a  century  or  beyond  I 


To  the  nineteenth  century  may  be  ascribed  the  virtue  of 
having  sanctioned  and  explained  the  actual  existence  of  certain 
disturbing  facts  which  have  been  pointed  out  by  chroniclers 
and  historians  for  many  centuries  gone  by.  These  facts, 
formerly  regarded  as  lies,  have  suddenly  changed  their  aspect. 
The  power  of  suggestion,  which  has  been  verified,  controlled, 
and  admitted,  has  at  the  same  time  reduced  the  number  of 
the  impostors  and  miracles  of  past  times.  The  most  unlikely 
XXXVIII  [  I  ] 


or 


THE   WILL 

phenomena  have  regained  their  veneer  of  reality.  They  are 
no  longer  contested,  because  they  appear  to  us  natural,  possi- 
ble, verifiable. 

Thus  we  admit  that  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  or  St.  Catherine 
of  Siena,  may  have  felt  the  pains  of  the  Passion.  Their  pro- 
longed attention  fixed  on  the  points  where  legend  says  the 
nails  and  the  sword  blade  pierced  the  body  of  Christ,  caused 
wounds.  The  blood  flowed  from  them.  These  persistent 
wounds  may,  indeed,  have  induced  in  St.  Francis,  as  well  as 
much  later  in  Louise  Lataud,  certain  thickenings  of  skin 
covered  with  blood,  which  recalled  the  nail  heads  of  the  cross. 

Why  should  we  deny  this  palpable  effect  of  suggestion 
while  so  many  others,  much  more  strange,  discover  them- 
selves to  our  own  eyes?  Charles  Richet  and  Barthelemy 
quote  the  case  of  a  mother,  a  very  nervous  woman,  who  was 
present  one  day  at  an  alarming  spectacle:  a  heavy  curtain- 
rod  threatened  to  become  detached  and  fall  on  her  child  kneeling 
close  at  hand.  On  the  neck  of  the  terrified  mother  a  ring  of 
erythema  formed  at  the  very  place  where  the  child  might 
have  been  struck. 

The  influence  of  our  sensations  and  ideas  on  our  bodies 
is  as  multifarious  as  the  sensations  and  ideas  themselves. 
Carpenter  tells  of  a  man  who,  in  spite  of  great  muscular  weak- 
ness, lifted  a  very  heavy  weight  one  day  because  he  thought 
it  insignificant.  Corvisart  attended  the  Empress  Josephine 
and  obtained  satisfactory  results  by  the  administration  of 
bread  pills.  At  all  times  faith  in  miracles  has  produced  those 
very  miracles.  Those  at  Lourdes  are  only  a  repetition  of  the 
votive  tablets  recovered  from  the  Tiber  which  testify  to  the 
extraordinary  feats  accomplished  by  the  Asclepiads.  "  In  these 
last  days,"  we  read,  "a  certain  Gaius,  who  was  blind,  learned 
from  the  oracle  that  he  must  repair  to  the  altar,  offer  up  prayers 
there,  and  then  cross  the  temple  from  right  to  left,  rest  his  five 
fingers  on  the  altar,  raise  his  hand,  and  place  it  over  his  eyes. 
He  immediately  recovered  his  sight  in  presence  and  amid  the 
acclamations  of  the  people." 

If  we  take  up  the  narratives  published  by  Mr.  Henri  Las- 
serre  in  his  "Lourdes,"  or  by  the  Abbe  Georges  Bertin  in  his 

XXXVIU  [  2  ] 


THE  WILL 

"Critical  History  of  the  Events  at  LoarJes,"  we  find  similar 
phenomena.  A  lady  who  had  become  epileptic  as  the  result 
of  a  great  fright,  submitted  herself  for  examination  to  a  number 
of  doctors.  All  the  remedies  of  science  proved  powerless. 
But  she  was  taken  to  the  grotto,  and  that  visit,  together  with 
a  novena,  restored  her  to  health. 

Parallel  to  this  is  a  story  related  by  the  ancients.  A  Roman 
soldier,  Valerius  Apcr,  recovers  his  sight  because  he  follows 
the  advice  of  the  gods.  In  conformity  with  their  command, 
he  made  a  pomade  of  the  blood  of  a  white  cock  mixed  with 
some  honey,  and  with  that  he  rubbed  his  eyes. 

We  need  only  read  once  again  what  Charcot,  Hack  Tuke, 
and  many  others  recount  of  recoveries  by  suggestion  to  doubt 
neither  the  miracles  of  Lourdes  nor  many  other  miracles  dis- 
puted by  the  centuries,  ancient  and  modern.  Even  Pom- 
ponace  made  the  malicious  observation  that  while  on  one 
hand  certain  cures  were  only  the  effect  of  imagination  and  of 
faith  in  certain  rehcs,  it  sufficed  on  the  other  "to  put  in  the 
place  of  a  saint's  bones  the  bones  of  quite  another  skeleton 
without  any  prejudice  to  the  sick.  The  cure  resulted  as  long 
as  the  sufferer  was  ignorant  of  the  change  that  had  been  ef- 
fected." Following  in  the  path  of  merciful  tolerance  in- 
augurated by  Charcot,  certain  of  his  adepts  practise  a  resi- 
dence at  the  grotto  of  Lourdes  on  their  believing  patients. 
They  are  put  to  sleep  and  the  idea  is  suggested  to  them  that 
they  are  in  the  sacred  grotto.  In  the  same  way  the  Holy 
Virgin  is  made  to  intervene.  The  patients  are  given  to  drink 
of  the  water  of  the  Marne  or  the  Loire,  and,  with  the  help  of 
saving  faith,  a  gentle  and  kindly  recovery  is  induced. 

The  action  on  the  body  of  our  psychic  life  manifests  itself 
thus  in  all  forms.  The  discovery  of  the  vaso-motor  nerves, 
made  by  Claude  Bernard,  has  enabled  us  to  introduce  a  little 
order  among  the  numerous  and  complicated  effects  pro- 
voked by  suggestion  both  from  without  and  from  within  (auto- 
suggestion). We  now  know  the  controlling  action  of  the 
brain,  which  by  means  of  the  vaso-motor  nerves  has  an  effect 
on  all  our  organs.  The  beating  of  the  heart  may  become 
slower,  quicker,  or  may  even  cease  under  the  stress  of  emo- 
XXXVIII  [  3  ] 


THE   WILL 

tions  such  as  anger  or  fear.     A  very  great  fright  may  even 
cause  death  through  syncope. 

Intense  attention,  concentrated  on  any  portion  of  our 
body,  provokes  manifest  changes  there.  Thus  redness  or 
paleness  may  be  induced  in  the  face,  or  swelHngs  on  different 
parts  of  the  body.  Certain  monks  were  found  with  the  red 
marks  of  flagellation  or  with  the  signs  of  Christ's  suffering, 
as  the  result  of  too  prolonged  or  too  often  repeated  hours  of 
ecstasy.  Charcot  relates  numerous  cases  of  the  phenomena 
of  burns  or  ecchymoses  appearing  on  the  bodies  of  people  as 
a  consequence  of  suggestion  directed  to  that  end. 

By  the  aid  of  simple  suggestion  we  can  thus  diagnose 
functional  troubles,  organic  injuries  and  hemorrhages  as  well 
as  curative  vaso-constriction.  The  cases  of  cure  by  sug- 
gestion of  the  expectoration  of  blood,  and  especially  of  bleed- 
ing from  the  nose  (e  pis  taxis) ,  are  exceedingly  frequent.  This 
has  been  noticed  chiefly  in  connection  with  loss  of  blood  caused 
by  wounds.  Punctures,  however  deep,  in  the  hypnotic  state 
are  never  accompanied  by  a  flow  of  blood. 

The  ancients,  to  take  Homer's  word  for  it  ('^Odyssey"), 
were  already  familiar  with  the  force  of  suggestion  in  this  respect. 
The  wily  Ulysses,  injured  by  a  boar,  had  recourse  to  a  special 
incantation  in  order  to  stop  the  blood  escaping  from  his  wound. 
By  founding  our  theories  on  Claude  Bernard's  vaso-motor 
system  we  are  able  to  explain  in  the  same  way  a  number  of 
other  phenomena  which  we  owe  to  suggestion.  Thus,  con- 
ditions of  our  mind,  its  passions  and  sentiments,  cause  the 
strangest  reactions  on  the  organism.  Faith  enables  you  to  cross 
mountains,  as  our  ancestors  used  to  say.  Courage  gets  the  better 
of  the  most  redoubtable  enemies.  It  is  often  not  the  medicines 
which  cure,  but  the  confidence  people  have  in  the  doctor. 

In  their  most  simple  expression  the  passions  cause  phe- 
nomena which  are  easy  to  control.  Strong  emotions  give  rise 
to  cold  sweats,  diarrhoea,  anaemias,  blood  poisoning,  arrested 
digestion.  Hack  Tuke  relates  the  following  interesting  illus- 
tration of  the  curative  effects  of  a  railway  catastrophe:  a  rheu- 
matic subject,  seized  with  a  most  painful  attack  of  rheumatism, 
took  train  in  order  to  go  home.  His  sufferings  continued  in 
XXXVIII  [  4  ] 


THE  WILL 

their  most  violent  form.  A  collision  occurred,  caused  the 
death  of  one  of  the  travellers  in  his  compartment,  and  sud- 
denly put  an  end  to  all  the  patient's  pains. 

It  would  take  whole  volumes  to  state  the  case  for  the  effect 
of  mind  on  matter — that  is  to  say,  the  effect  of  our  ideas, 
sensations,  and  sentiments  on  the  body.  One  incontestable 
fact  nevertheless  stands  out  from  the  examples  cited  above — 
viz.,  psychic  influences  frequently  produce  the  same  effects 
as  stimulants  or  mechanical  influences. 

It  would,  however,  be  very  difficult  to  place  all  the  known 
cases  under  formal  categories,  for  the  simple  reason  that  their 
number  is  unlimited.  When  individual  impressionability  lends 
itself  to  it  we  might  call  forth  with  the  help  of  the  psychic 
factors  almost  the  whole  gamut  of  phenomena  yielded  by 
material  causes. 

What,  for  instance,  could  be  more  disturbing  than  this 
singular  story  reported  to  me  the  other  day?  In  a  dining- 
room  where  there  were  about  twenty  people,,  one  of  the  hosts, 
brusquely  interrupting  in  a  voice  choked  with  strong  emotion, 
shouted :  "  Alas !  we  are  all  poisoned ;  the  cook  has  gone  mad  and 
put  arsenic  in  all  the  sauces!"  Thereupon  several  people  were 
seized  with  vomiting,  others  experienced  pains  like  those  of 
arsenic  poisoning,  while  a  woman  fell  to  the  ground  over- 
come. .  .  .  The  mistake  was  discovered  a  few  moments  later, 
for  the  supposed  arsenic  was  only  mouldy  flour  that  the  drunken 
cook  had  mistaken  for  poison. 

Under  the  influence  of  severe  grief  the  hair  changes  color 
in  the  space  of  a  night.  Certain  emotions  act  in  a  special 
way  on  certain  glands.  The  idea  of  sorrow  experienced  pro- 
vokes tears;  rage  acts  on  the  salivary  glands.  Shame  pro- 
duces a  reddening  of  the  cheeks  just  as  the  feeling  of  fear 
affects  the  functions  of  the  heart  and  often  of  the  digestive 
organs.  Joy  facilitates  digestion,  while  anger  poisons  the 
organism  and  unsettles  its  primordial  functions.  On  the 
other  hand,  serenity  of  mind  quite  appreciably  induces  well- 
being.  In  this  condition  all  our  organs  perform  their  func- 
tions in  a  way  which  is  nearer  the  normal,  more  healthy,  and 
more  in  accordance  with  the  prosperity  of  the  body. 
XXXVIII  [  5  ] 


THE  WILL 


II 


When  we  consider  the  undoubted  reflex  action  of  the  mind 
on  the  body,  we  may  easily  realize  that  nature  has  placed 
certain  means  at  our  disposal  for  increasing  our  happiness 
on  the  earth.  We  are  somewhat  in  the  position  of  an  owner 
of  land  in  whose  depths  lie  hidden  rich  veins  of  gold.  What 
should  we  say  of  such  a  man  who,  while  aware  of  his  riches, 
refused  to  exploit  them? 

And  yet  this  is  the  case  with  almost  all  human  beings. 
We  know  how  easily  handled  and  how  evidently  certain  are 
these  moral  instruments  which  nature  has  put  into  our  hands, 
and  yet  how  many  are  there  who  have  recourse  to  them  ?  The 
properly  used  forces  of  our  mind  may  render  us  important 
services  with  regard  to  the  prolongation  of  our  life.  As  we 
have  shown  above,  there  is  no  doubt  that  ill-directed  sug- 
gestion shortens  it.  Arrived  at  a  certain  age  we  poison  our- 
selves with  the  idea  of  or  with  thoughts  about  our  approach- 
ing end.  We  lose  faith  in  our  own  strength,  and  our  strength 
leaves  us.  On  the  pretext  that  age  is  weighing  heavily  on  our 
shoulders,  we  take  to  sedentary  habits  and  cease  to  pursue 
our  occupations  with  vigor.  Little  by  little  our  blood,  vitiated 
by  idleness,  and  our  feebly  renewed  tissues  open  the  doors  to 
all  sorts  of  maladies.  Precocious  old  age  lays  siege  to  us,  and 
we  succumb  earher  than  we  need  have  done,  as  a  result  of 
injurious  auto-suggestion. 

Now  why  should  we  not  endeavor  to  live  by  auto-suggestion, 
instead  of  dying  of  it  ?  We  might  keep  before  our  eyes  numerous 
examples  of  healthy  and  robust  longevity  and  let  our  conscious- 
ness be  invaded  and  conquered  by  the  possibility  of  living  be- 
yond a  hundred  years.  Goethe  said  somewhere:  ^'Man  can 
command  nature  to  eliminate  from  his  being  all  the  foreign 
elements  which  cause  him  suffering  and  illness."  However, 
negative  action  is  not  sufficient.  One  must  also  proceed  to 
a  positive  piece  of  work.  One  must  store  up  in  one's  brain 
beneficent,  serene,  and  comforting  suggestions.  Every  one 
knows  the  fundamental  basis  of  the  sect  of  the  "Christian 
Scientists,"  so  wide-spread  in  the  United  States.  In  face  of 
xxxvm  [  6  ] 


THE  WILL 

an  obvious  illness,  they  affirm  that  it  does  not  exist,  and  they 
suggest  the  idea  that  prayers  can  conquer  every  evil.  Up  to 
the  period  when,  blinded  by  success,  the  representatives  of  this 
new  belief  pushed  their  method,  which  is  excellent  in  itself, 
beyond  the  limits  of  common  sense,  unnumbered  cures  were 
effected  by  their  invocations.  These  supposed  "miracles" 
brought  in  thousands  of  adherents  and  millions  of  dollars  to 
Mother  Eddy,  the  celebrated  foundress  of  this  religion,  which 
proves  so  lucrative  for  its  priests. 

Ill 

On  a  closer  study  of  the  life  of  centenarians,  we  perceive 
how  an  optimistic  belief  in  their  strength  has  helped  them  to 
bear  the  weight  of  their  years.  Baron  Waldeck,  who  died  in 
Paris  in  1875  at  the  age  of  109,  never  ceased  to  entertain  the 
"suggestion"  that  he  had  still  long  to  live.  At  the  age  of  102 
he  undertook  for  the  firm  of  Didot,  so  Pierre  Giffard,  his 
biographer,  affirms,  a  three-volume  encyclopedia,  treating  of 
archaeology.  Consumed  with  his  idea  that  the  Egyptian  civil- 
ization descended  in  a  direct  line  from  the  Mexican,  he  ex- 
tracted from  his  ardent  work  reasons  for  going  on  living. 
Born  under  Louis  XV.  and  having  travelled  at  the  time  of  La 
Perouse,  this  man  breakfasted  with  Laharpe  and  the  Abbe 
Delille,  counted  Camille  Desmoulins  among  his  friends,  knew 
Bonaparte  as  a  sub-orderly  officer  in  Egypt  and  Thiers  as  a 
drawing  master,  was  present  at  a  series  of  revolutions,  and 
passed  away  under  MacMahon,  almost  in  the  plenitude  of 
his  intellectual  forces. 

M.  Rigaud,  the  senior  Mayor  of  France,  whom  I  met  during 
the  Exposition  of  1900,  told  me  that  at  the  age  of  92  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  rising  at  four  in  the  morning  and  immediately 
beginning  work,  after  rubbing  himself  with  cold  water. 

"How  about  your  92  years?"  I  asked,  smilingly. 

"I  never  look  at  them,"  he  said  good-naturedly. 

As  a  contractor  for  public  works  he  was  still  at  that  period 
personally  superintending  his  workmen. 

One  of  my  friends,  a  most  distinguished  Englishman, 
XXXVIII  [  7  ] 


THE  WILL 

M.  W.,  whom,  in  spite  of  his  87  years,  I  am  careful  not  to  call 
an  old  man,  leads  as  active  a  life  as  if  he  were  no  more  than 
thirty.  I  shall  never  forget  a  walk  of  some  hours'  duration  which 
we  took  together  in  order  to  visit,  among  other  things,  on  the 
heights  of  Montmartre,  the  studio  of  L.  Dhurmer,  one  of  our 
greatest  pastel  painters.  With  intense  curiosity  M.  W.  set 
to  work  to  study  *'the  secret"  of  the  master's  procedure.  The 
painter,  who  had  heard  tell  of  the  venerable  age  of  his  visitor, 
said  to  him  respectfully: 

"There  are  no  longer  any  secrets  to  you,  Admiral." 

"Don't  you  rely  on  that,"  said  M.  W.,  smiling.  "I  have 
plenty  of  time  before  me,  and  I  may  yet  come  into  competition 
with  you." 

And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  the  following  year,  M.  W.  re- 
newed the  lease  of  his  London  house  for  99  years. 

Mrs.  Margaret  Neave,  who  died  in  1904  in  the  island  of 
Guernsey,  at  her  estate  Rouge  Huyshe,  at  the  age  of  iii,  was 
by  no  means  cut  off,  up  to  the  end  of  her  days,  from  the  out- 
side world.  She  received  visitors  and  questioned  them  on 
the  affairs  of  the  day.  As  long  as  Queen  Victoria  was  alive, 
she  never  failed  to  send  her  an  annual  telegram  of  congratula- 
tions on  her  birthday.  The  Queen  replied  with  affection  and 
carefully  examined  the  portrait  of  old  Mrs.  Neave,  just  as 
some  women  who  are  soon  expecting  to  be  mothers  anxiously 
watch  the  faces  of  beautiful  children. 

Mme.  Viardot,  the  great  friend  of  Tourgeneff,  in  spite 
of  her  advanced  age  of  84,  continues  to  give  singing  lessons. 
To  her  active  life  and  to  the  absence  of  all  depressing  sugges- 
tions she  owes  her  youthf ulness  of  spirit,  which  makes  her  one 
of  the  most  agreeable  talkers  in  Paris.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  vivid  portraits  she  sketched  for  me  of  some  of  the  cele- 
brated personages  she  had  met  on  her  long  journey.  And 
is  not  "  creation  "  the  true  gift  of  youth  ? 

Such  was  also  the  case  with  the  beautiful  Mme.  Scrivaneek, 
the  glorious  rival  of  Dejazet,  whom  I  saw,  toward  the  year 
1900,  giving  lessons  and  private  tutoring,  at  the  age  of  about  80. 

We  ought  to  take  a  flying  view  in  memory  of  the  celebrated 
men  who,  as  nonagenarians  or  centenarians,  have  always  dis- 
XXXVIII  [  8  ] 


THE   WILL 

tinguished  themselves  by  their  untiring  activity  and  their 
faith  in  "their  youth."  When  we  think  over  their  ca*es,  we 
reaHze  that  it  was  the  suggestion  of  force,  the  innate  conviction 
that  resistance  is  possible,  together  with  the  absence  of  de- 
pressing ideas,  which  chiefly  contributed  to  the  preservation 
of  their  health  and  their  prolonged  life.  So  that  we  see  how 
important  it  is  to  shut  the  door  of  one's  heart,  or  rather  of 
one's  brain,  to  all  injurious  ideas  as  to  stingy  limits  to  life. 
Nature,  who  created  poisons,  has  also  created  their  antidotes. 
What,  for  instance,  can  be  more  painful  to  almost  all  mortals 
than  the  mere  thought  of  inevitable  old  age  ?  Nearly  as  many 
tears  have  been  shed  over  this  necessity  as  over  that  of  death. 
For  those,  alas!  who  tremble  at  the  dark,  are  quick  to  per- 
ceive its  terrors.  And  yet  this  old  age,  so  ill-spoken  of  and 
so  feared,  contains  within  it  unsuspected  delights.  Every- 
thing depends  on  the  angle  at  which  we  take  up  our  position 
for  observing  and  studying  it.  The  author  of  the  Epistles  to 
Lucillus  (XII.)  goes  into  ecstasies  over  its  charms.  "Apples 
are  not  good,"  he  tells  us,  "until  they  are  beginning  to  go. 
The  beauty  of  children  appears  toward  the  end.  .  .  .  Those 
who  love  wine  take  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  last  draught 
they  drink.  All  that  is  most  exquisite  in  man's  pleasures  is 
reserved  for  the  end." 

Renan  also  ("Discours  de  reception  a  VAcademie'')  dis- 
covered an  attractive  canvas  on  which  to  paint  old  age,  bo 
abhorred  of  all.  "Charming  age,"  he  says,  "that  of  the  Ec- 
clesiast,  the  most  appropriate  to  serene  gaiety,  when  one  begins 
to  see,  after  a  most  laborious  day's  work,  that  all  is  vanity,  but 
also  that  a  number  of  vain  things  are  worth  tasting  at  leisure." 

What  a  fragrant  bouquet  of  delicious  and  fortifying  herbs 
might  be  culled  from  the  deUcate  thinkers  who  have  meditated 
long  on  old  age.  Try  to  train  yourself  in  it,  and  you  will  taste, 
little  by  little,  under  their  influence,  the  charm  of  quiet,  in 
the  place  of  the  worries  of  fear.  Yet  bad  suggestions  come 
to  us  from  all  sides.  We  think  too  much  of  the  diseases  of 
our  organs,  of  the  using  up  of  our  tissue,  and  of  fatal  decrepitude. 
We  distrust  our  physical  and  intellectual  forces,  our  memory, 
our  conversational  gifts  and  powers  of  work.  For  enemies 
XXXVIII  [  9  ] 


THE  WILL 

to  our  happiness  lie  in  wait  for  us  everywhere.  The  necessity 
for  keeping  them  out  by  good  suggestions,  and  above  all  by 
deliberate  auto-suggestion,  thus  becomes  most  obvious. 

IV 

We  are  more  cruel  to  our  own  interests  than  nature  has 
any  idea  of  being.  The  human  organism  of  which  we  speak 
so  ill  is  marvellously  solid.  Probably  there  is  not  a  single 
one  of  the  mechanical  inventions,  on  which  we  so  pride  our- 
selves, which  could  withstand  with  such  impunity  the  many 
senseless  shocks  to  which  we  subject  our  body.  When  one 
thinks  of  our  way  of  life,  which,  from  the  tenderest  age,  con- 
stantly deranges  the  numerous  wheels  of  the  human  machine, 
one  cannot  but  be  filled  with  admiration  at  its  resisting  power. 
Not  content,  however,  with  throwing  it  out  of  gear,  we  speak 
ill  of  it  endlessly  as  well.  Having  used  and  abused  our  body 
for  a  certain  number  of  years,  we  are  then  pleased  to  pro- 
nounce it  old,  senile,  lost.  And  we  proceed  to  neglect  it  with 
an  absence  of  care  which  effects  its  ruin.  After  having  suffered 
for  many  years  from  our  excesses  and  our  folhes,  it  succumbs 
under  the  burden  of  our  gratuitous  contempt.  And  when 
the  injury  does  not  come  from  its  own  immediate  proprietor, 
you  may  be  sure  that  our  neighbors,  relations,  or  friends  will 
not  fail  to  throw  it  in  its  face.  Poor  human  body!  Source 
of  so  many  joys  which  beautify,  nourish,  and  sustain  our  life, 
it  is  nevertheless  reduced  to  the  rdle  of  a  mere  laughing-stock. 
The  reproach  of  having  a  mind  or  a  consciousness  which  is 
either  senile  or  worn  out  creates  in  us  a  feeling  of  revolt.  We 
cannot  bear  to  have  any  one  daring  to  doubt  their  strength 
or  their  youth.  And  yet  how  many  are  there  who  venture 
to  animadvert  on  a  sentence  of  senility  unjustly  passed  upon 
them?  Indeed,  men  who  have  reached  a  certain  age  bow  all 
the  more  before  such  a  reproach  and  do  their  best  to  deserve  it. 

Our  superstitions  also  have  a  share  of  the  responsibility 
here  as  in  all  other  things.  Almost  all  of  us  experience  that 
of  pseudo-senility.  Thus  we  imagine  that  at  sixty  years  of 
age  or  even  earlier  our  hour  of  retirement  has  sounded.  From 
this  moment  we  give  up  our  occupations,  our  exercise,  our 
xxxvin  [  lo  ] 


THE  WILL 

pleasures.  We  withdraw  from  life  and  it  in  turn  withdraws 
from  us.  Now  physiology  is  there  to  demonstrate  to  us  that 
our  organism  may  yet  accomplish  all  the  physiological  func- 
tions of  the  preceding  periods.  And  if  our  digestion  or  some 
other  function  is  weak  or  paralyzed,  we  have  not  our  years 
to  thank,  but  the  bad  use  to  which  we  have  put  them.  For, 
what  is  senility?  It  is  the  time  of  life  at  which  a  man,  who 
has  only  a  worn-out  organism  at  his  service,  must  die  his  natural 
death.  Now  this  limit,  which  might  theoretically  be  put  at 
one  hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred  years,  exists  even  in  real- 
ity much  further  off  than  we  venture  to  believe.  ' 
For  a  proof  of  this  I  will  take  a  series  of  curious  statistical 
tables  of  deaths  from  old  age  in  Paris  during  a  period  of  eleven 
years,  which  were  drawn  up  by  Dr.  A.  Block  (Bulletin  de  la 
Societe  d 'Anthropologic  de  Paris,  1896).  The  result  shows 
that  even  in  this  city  of  Paris,  which  has  such  an  unwhole- 
some effect  on  people's  health  and  longevity,  senility,  such 
as  we  have  just  defined  it,  appears  frequently  at  the  age  of 
from  eighty  to  eighty-five,  and  even  some  years  later.  This  is 
how  the  author  shows  the  number  of  deaths  from  senility,  for 
lack  of  other  visible  causes: 

Year. 

880 


881  , 
882, 
883. 
884. 
885. 
886. 
887. 
888. 
889. 
890. 


100  and 

80-85. 

85-90. 

90-95. 

95-100. 

Over. 

393 

213 

60 

10 

I 

46s, 

177 

36 

9 

2 

413 

214 

48 

8 

I 

454 

264 

64 

15 

0 

437 

221 

59 

6 

I 

398 

238 

63 

15 

0 

447 

255 

61 

II 

I 

387 

262 

58 

12 

0 

441 

271 

75 

13 

I 

555 

293 

116 

32 

3 

519 

307 

116 

18 

2 

The  critical  period  for  an  old  man  in  Paris  therefore  appears 
to  be  between  eighty  and  eighty-five,  for  in  these  five  years 
there  are  the  most  numerous  deaths  from  senility.  The  author, 
in  comparing  all  these  facts,  arrives  at  the  apparently  para- 
doxical conclusion  that  from  the  age  of  eighty  illness  has  less 
power  over  an  old  man  the  older  he  becomes.  In  other  words, 
xxxvin  [11] 


THE  WILL 

after  having  passed  this  critical  age,  man  has  more  chance  of 
dying  of  a  natural  death — that  is  to  say,  of  crossing  the  thresh- 
old of  his  centenary.  What  is  the  reason  of  this  ?  It  is  very 
simple.  It  often  takes  a  man  eighty  years  of  experience  to  know 
how  to  direct  the  capacities  of  his  organism  with  precision. 

The  most  important  thing  for  us  is  that  death  from  pneu- 
monia, heart  disease,  and  cerebral  congestion  or  hemorrhage, 
is  by  no  means  so  frequent  after  the  age  of  sixty  as  is  ordinarily 
bcUeved.  In  other  terms,  the  respiratory  apparatus,  the  cir- 
culation, and  even  the  digestive  organs  continue  their  functions, 
or  rather  they  have  no  special  reason  for  not  continuing  their 
functions.  In.  any  case,  it  is  not  senile  decay,  a  natural  cause, 
which  deprives  us  of  their  use,  but  all  sorts  of  accidental  causes. 
Which  of  us  has  not  met  men  who  have  passed  the  age  of  eighty 
and  yet  digest  and  breathe  very  well  and  are  still  enjoying 
all  their  intellectual  faculties  ? 

Rational  economy  in  the  use  of  our  organs  may  preserve 
them  for  their  work  far  beyond  a  century.  Often  all  that  is 
required  is  that  we  should  be  saturated  from  an  early  age  with 
this  truth  in  order  to  enable  all  who  are  in  love  with  life  to 
pass  beyond  this  long  stage  of  the  journey. 


Intelligent  men  have  yet  another  means  of  prolonging 
their  existence,  which  the  poor  in  spirit  cannot  practise.  I 
mean  the  control  of  life  and  its  rational  use. 

In  his  tract  on  the  "Shortness  of  Life,"^  Seneca  asserts 
with  reason  that  "it  is  not  that  we  have  too  little  time,  but 
we  lose  so  much,"  and  that  "the smallest  part  of  our  life  is 
the  part  we  live." 

From  that  point  of  departure  he  combats  the  pessimism 
of  Aristotle  who  poured  out  recriminations  against  nature 
which  were  hardly  worthy  of  a  sage.  It  is  well  known  that 
the  founder  of  Peripatetics  complained  bitterly  against  the 
immortal  principle  of  things  which  had  only  considered  "the 
animals  whose  existence  was  prolonged  for  five  or  six  cen- 

1  De  hrcvitate  vitcB.  "  Non  exiguum  temporis  hahcmus,  sed  multum 
perdimus.  "...    "Exigua  pars  est  vitce,  quam  nos  vivimus."- 
XXXVIII  [  12  ] 


THE  WILL 

turies,  while  man,  born  for  so  great  and  various  a  destiny,  found 
himself  pulled  up  while  still  far  within  these  limits."  But 
according  to  Seneca,  long  life  itself  only  becomes  short  because 
of  our  inaptitude  in  using  it.  And  the  philosopher  makes 
the  profound  remark,  which  has  never  ceased  to  be  true  in 
spite  of  the  number  of  centuries  which  stand  between  us  and 
its  author : 

''No  man  permits  any  encroachment  on  his  field,  and  for 
the  smallest  dispute  about  a  boundary  stones  and  javelins 
are  let  fly,  and  each  suffers  his  life  to  be  invaded.  .  .  .  You 
cannot  find  any  one  who  will  share  his  money,  yet  each  lavishes 
his  life  on  all  comers.  All  attach  importance  to  the  manage- 
ment of  their  patrimony,  but,  as  soon  as  it  becomes  a  question 
of  loss  of  time,  they  are  prodigal  to  excess  with  the  one  good 
thing  of  which  it  would  be  beneficial  to  be  stingy." 

In  taking  up  this  point  of  view  we  see  how  cruel  man  is 
with  regard  to  his  own  interests.  We  are  all  agreed  as  to  the 
value  of  life  and  time,  its  supreme  expression.  Yet  rare  are 
those  who  really  know  how  to  honor  it.  Let  each  one  pass 
in  review  the  months  and  years  lost  in  vices  which  shorten 
our  existence,  in  a  sort  of  moral  or  intellectual  lethargy  which 
ought  to  be  deducted  from  Hfe,  and  we  can  easily  see  that  we 
are  our  own  executioners.  We  must  not  believe  in  the  control 
exercised  by  acts  of  the  civil  'state,  nor  even  in  the  outward 
signs  of  old  age.  Like  the  face  of  a  clock,  they  perform  the 
function  of  mechanical  registration.  The  hidden  truth  rarely 
corresponds  to  these  formal  signs.  Such  and  such  a  white 
beard  or  such  and  such  a  birth  certificate  pointing  to  two  or 
three  quarters  of  a  century  of  human  Hfe,  may  perhaps  only 
correspond  to  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  The  squandering  of 
individual  lives  only  finds  its  equal  in  that  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion with  its  armaments  and  its  wars.  Let  each  of  us  examine 
his  conscience  and  he  will  tremble  with  indignation  and  horror 
at  the  lion's  share  of  his  Hfe  which  has  been  destroyed  by 
carelessness  and  lightness.  Along  with  our  own  errors  we 
must  include  those  of  our  defective  systems  of  education  and 
instruction. 

The  illnesses  which  might  have  been  avoided,  as  well  as 
XXXVIII  [  13  ] 


THE  WILL 

the  evils  of  the  education  of  youth,  abstract  from  hfe  more 
years  than  each  would  require  in  order  to  become  a  centenarian. 
Thus  we  see  that  the  science  of  hfe,  the  art  of  using  it  intelli- 
gently would  distinctly  prolong  its  limits.  The  people  who 
groan  at  the  years  which  in  slipping  away  bring  them  nearer 
the  fatal  denouement  remind  one  of  the  prodigals  who  lament 
the  enforced  outlay  of  a  few  halfpence,  while  they  are  tossing 
sovereigns  out  of  the  window. 

How  true  is  the  neat  saying  of  Charron:  "It  is  characteristic 
of  a  great  master  to  enclose  much  in  a  little  space."  It  is 
perhaps  in  this  quarter  that  we  might  easily  find  one  of  the 
numerous  keys  to  long  life. 

VI 

But  how  are  we  to  counteract  the  depressing  influences 
which  lie  in  wait  for  us  every  moment  of  our  lives  ?  Consider 
the  evil  and  the  good,  and  what  do  we  find  ?  It  is  often  quite 
enough  for  some  one  to  tell  us  some  thing  nice  and  pleasant 
to  produce  a  condition  of  peace  and  serenity  in  our  minds. 
More  important  still:  often  in  the  grip  of  analytical  melan- 
choly or  of  unlimited  despair  we  sit  down  to  think  over  our 
case.  After  careful  examination  we  find  it  by  no  means  so 
exasperating.  If  we  continue  our  thinking  the  calmer  aspects 
of  the  event  stand  out  with  reassuring  clearness.  They  even 
smile  at  us  good-naturedly,  and  we  may  confidently  abandon 
ourselves  to  their  tender  mercies.  Thus  unhappy  impres- 
sions fade  away,  injurious  or  depressing  sentiments  become 
less  acute,  and,  just  as  the  surface  of  a  lake  which  has  been 
disturbed  by  the  invasion  of  some  body  from  outside  regains 
its  habitual  stillness,  so  our  conscious  mind  regains  its  equi- 
librium. For,  in  nature,  there  is  nothing  either  absolutely 
good  or  absolutely  bad.  In  the  saddest  things  there  is  an 
element  of  sweetness,  if  not  of  gayety.  It  is  our  business  to 
seek  it,  and  having  found  it  to  make  good  use  of  it. 

A  wise  man  will  do  still  more.  Instead  of  having  recourse, 
on  special  occasions,  to  this  beneficent  fairy,  he  will  wish  to 
keep  her  always  close  to  him.  Looking  into  her  smiling  face, 
XXXVIII  [  14  ] 


THE  WILL 

he  will  acquire  renewed  strength  for  each  misfortune.  He 
will  let  life's  furrows  be  smoothed  away  by  her  musical  laughter. 
Cross-grained  philosophers  and  psychologists  will  no  doubt 
say  that  this  is  optimism  unworthy  of  superior  men.  What 
does  that  matter  ?  We  may  say  what  evil  we  Uke  of  optimism, 
but  we  must  admit  all  the  same  that  it  is  closely  bound  up 
with  the  fortunes  of  human  beings.  It  is  all  very  well  to  try 
to  substitute  the  philosophy  of  ill-temper,  in  other  words, 
gnawing  pessimism,  as  the  natural  system  of  humanity.  We 
have  only  to  examine  a  man  a  little  nearer  and  to  observe 
with  what  joy  he  entertains  the  smiles  of  the  good  fairy  and 
turns  from  the  grimaces  of  pessimism  to  see  which  way  nature 
draws  him.  If  we  cast  a  look  round  us  we  notice  how  in- 
stinctively a  man  lets  himself  be  drawn  along  by  his  own 
optimistic  tendencies.  The  many  games  of  chance  with  their 
risks  bordering  on  the  unlikely;  the  thronging  of  the  liberal 
professions  where  success  is  rare ;  the  faith  in  political  panaceas, 
and  the  spectacle  of  so  many  other  of  the  games  of  life  where 
impregnable  belief  in  a  happy  issue  constantly  dominates  the 
fear  of  misfortune  all  go  to  prove  it.  Humanity  left  to  itself, 
as  Dr.  Max  Nordau  says  somewhere,  gives  way  by  prefer- 
ence and  by  instinct  to  happy  influences.  Consequently  these 
have  more  chance  of  possessing  us.  All  we  need  is  to  utilize 
them  for  our  own  happiness. 

I  cannot  contemplate  the  vast  fields  of  international  litera- 
ture without  emotion. 

Millions  of  people  of  the  writing  profession  make  a  living 
out  of  the  misery  and  scorn  of  the  public  and  the  critics.  Yet 
they  continue  to  introduce  their  works  often  at  the  cost  of 
appalling  injuries  to  their  self-respect.  In  their  robust  faith 
in  the  future  they  discount  the  glory  of  to-morrow  and  even 
that  due  to  them  from  far-off  generations.  And  yet  they 
cannot  ignore  the  fact  that  out  of  the  thousands  of  works  and 
of  writers  who  preceded  us,  not  more  than  a  few  hundreds 
have  survived.  In  comparison  with  the  chances  which  we 
have  in  the  lottery  of  literary  glory,  a  share  in  the  Panama 
or  the  Credit  Foncier  of  Paris  might  ahnost  be  considered  a 
certainty  of  a  big  haul. 

XXXVIII  [  15  ] 


THE  WILL 

What  has  become  of  the  greatest  poets  of  Greece  ?  Which 
of  us  has  ever  read  a  single  Hne  of  Simonides,  who  was  fifty-six 
times  a  winner  in  the  prize  competitions;  or  of  Philetas,  whom 
Theocritus  despaired  of  ever  equalHng  ?  Max  Bonnet,  in  his 
''Classical  Philology,"  argues  that  Homer,  Sophocles,  and  Eurip- 
ides have  only  survived  because  they  have  been  made  subjects 
for  the  practical  studies  of  our  youth!  This  is  how  the  glory 
of  these  immortal  poets  is  maintained  from  among  all  the 
men  who  had  the  opportunity  of  living  in  an  epoch  when, 
as  is  said,  mankind  was  not  suffering  from  any  embarrass- 
ment of  talent  or  genius.  Were  it  not  for  our  rooted  opti- 
mism the  millions  of  writers  who  spring  up  all  over  the  world 
would  no  doubt  snap  their  pens  and  take  to  more  peaceful 
and,  O  irony  supreme!  more  durable  work.  Thus  there  is 
nothing  easier  than  to  reach  the  port  of  happiness  by  trusting 
one's  self  to  optimist  currents. 

Yet  those  who  feel  incapable  of  putting  this  comforting 
philosophy  in  practice  may  have  recourse  to  a  surprisingly 
simple  method.  It  is  none  the  less  efficacious.  Every  one 
knows  the  story  of  the  sick  man,  who,  while  suffering  from 
neuralgia,  argued  so  well  with  his  pain  that  it  finally  disappeared. 
What  is  required  is  auto-suggestion  for  each  given  case,  instead 
of  faffing  back  on  some  general  doctrine.  Does  not  psycho- 
therapeutics, the  new  departure  in  medicine,  teach  us  that 
certain  iffnesses  disappear  as  if  by  enchantment  as  the  result 
of  constantly  repeated  suggestions?  Dr.  F.  Regnault  relates 
that  in  treating  a  hypochondriac  he  advised  him  to  write  on 
the  walfevery  evening  the  words,  "I  am  happy,"  and  to  go  off 
to  sleep  in  full  view  of  them.  After  a  few  weeks  happiness 
began  to  steal  into  his  spirit.  Which  of  us,  in  speaking  of 
God,  does  not  instinctively  turn  toward  the  sky?  Neither 
science  nor  reason  can  prevail  against  the  mechanical  repeti- 
tion of  the  phrase,  which  is  yet  so  contrary  to  the  most  ele- 
mentary notions  of  astronomy;  "Our  Father,  which  art  in 
Heaven."  In  moments  of  distress,  astronomers  themselves 
may  be  found  seeking  for  their  God  in  some  hidden  corner 
of  the  universe! 

XXXVIII  [  i6  ] 


THE  WILL 


VII 


What  endless  resource  is  provided  in  this  way  against  the 
invading  years!  Let  us  accept  them  with  confidence  and 
look  on  them  with  the  softness  which  befits  men  of  wisdom. 
Let  us  ever  keep  before  our  eyes  comforting  examples  of  serene 
old  age  and  probable  longevity.  Little  by  little  our  opti- 
mistic visions  will  become  a  guard  of  honor.  They  will  be 
on  the  watch  that  poisonous  fears  do  not  take  possession  of 
our  consciousness.  Those  who  are  not  sensitive  to  this  sur- 
rounding atmosphere  of  reasoned  thought  may,  on  the  other 
hand,  have  recourse  to  direct  and  repeated  suggestion.  Let 
us  then  repeat  every  day  and  at  every  moment  when  the  fears 
of  helpless  old  age  come  back  to  memory,  first  of  all  that  it  is  a 
long  way  off,  and  secondly  let  us  remind  ourselves  of  its  attrac- 
tions. This  direct  action  on  the  mind  will  have  extraordinary 
results.  And  as  the  hypochondriac  comes  to  be  always  smiling 
by  continually  telling  himself  that  he  is  happy,  so  people 
obsessed  by  the  thought  of  old  age  and  death  may  be  restored 
to  calm  at  their  approach. 

Our  unreasoned  fears,  by  demoralizing  our  minds,  only 
accelerate  their  destructive  advance.  In  facing  them  with 
the  careful  consideration  worthy  of  a  well-informed  man,  we 
remove  our  limits.  Our  apprehensions  are  put  to  sleep  ^under 
the  influence  of  thought  just  as,  according  to  the  Indians, 
the  evil  desires  of  love  are  by  malalis. 

Let  us  especially  put  ourselves  under  the  most  powerful 
influence  of  all,  that  of  work.  Let  us  prolong  our  youth  under 
the  protection  of  these  illusions.  Let  us  use  our  minds  rather 
than  enfeeble  our  bodies  for  want  of  occupation.  In  a  word, 
let  us  not  give  ourselves  time  to  grow  old! 

The  inevitable  visitation  which  must  at  some  time  lead 
in  the  two  dreaded  sisters,  old  age  and  death,  will  not  only 
take  place  later,  but,  what  is  more  essential,  will  become  a 
thing  almost  to  be  desired.  They  will  be  awaited  like  guests 
who  are  to  bring  us  at  some  distant,  even  at  some  very  dis- 
tant, day,  the  attractive  charm  of  their  sweet  and  peaceful 
melancholy. 

XXXVIII  [  17  ] 


XXXIX 


THE  HOPE 

"THE  UNKNOWN  GOD" 

BY    . 

SIR  HENRY  THOMPSON 


TJ/'E  approach  the  close  oj  our  series.  We  have  jaced  life  from 
^^  many  sides,  examined  it  in  many  aspects.  From  the 
immaterial  side,  the  side  of  creation,  of  godhood,  and  of  mystery, 
we  are  perhaps  ready  to  ask  ourselves  the  final  question,  What 
shall  we,  what  can  we,  what  at  heart  do  we  believe  of  an  existence 
beyond  and  above  us?  Upon  this  mighty  subject  each  individual 
has  meditated  perforce,  with  whatsoever  of  profundity  and  ear- 
nestness lies  within  his  nature.  Positive  conclusions,  drawn 
partly  perhaps  from  an  inherited  faith,  partly  from  a  limited 
personal  experience,  are  held  by  some  among  us  with  a  pas- 
sionate intensity  which  defies  doubt  almost  as  a  crime.  Others 
cry  clamorously  to  their  neighbors  for  fuller  light.  Others  have 
pushed  the  question  aside  impatiently  as  beyond  solution.  What, 
let  us  ask  ourselves,  would  a  thoughtful  man  believe  who  had 
seen  all  life  and  studied  all  religions  without,  if  such  a  case 
were  possible,  a  preconceived  partiality  for  any  one  among  them  ? 
What  in  brief  will  the  man  of  the  future  believe  when  he  has 
come  to  know  all  that  may  be  knowable  on  earth  ? 

The  first  of  these  two  questions  we  can  answer  partly,  though 
not  the  second.  We  have  here  the  words  of  a  man  famous  in 
the  annals  of  medicine,  a  noted  English  physician  who  until 
his  recent  death  was  not  only  a  leader  in  his  profession  but  a  man 
of  mark  in  the  social  world,  a  diplomat  and '' friend  of  kings. "^^ 
Sir  Henry   Thompson  ranked  as  ''physician  extraordinary'' 

XXXIX  [  I  ] 


THE  HOPE 

to  more  than  one  oj  the  crowned  heads  oj  Europe.  He  was  not 
a  professional  writer,  but  early  in  lije  he  began  that  serious  and 
untrammelled  search  into  religion  which  here  finds  such  striking 
literary  expression.  This  summing  up  in  a  strictly  logical  way 
oj  the  conclusions  he  had  finally  reached  was  Sir  Henry'' s  last 
important  work,  his  legacy  to  the  world.  That  he  does  not  liter- 
ally accept  Christianity  need  afflict  no  Christian  mind.  Rather 
should  each  one  draw  encouragement  from  the  fact  that  while 
wholly  ignoring  ^^ revelation^''  this  profound  investigator  has 
reached  results  so  close  akin  to  all  its  teachings. 

An  attempt  to  seek,  by  a  carefully  made  induction  from  available 
data,  some  certain  assurance  respecting  the  influence  which  the 
"Infinite  and  Eternal  Energy  from  which  all  things  proceed"  has 
exercised  on  Man  throughout  his  long  career  on  Earth. 

"But  amid  the  mysteries  which  become  the  more  mysterious  the 
more  they  are  thought  about,  there  will  remain  the  absolute  certainty 
that  he  (the  Astronomer)  is  ever  in  presence  of  an  Infinite  and  Eternal 
Energy,  from  which  all  things  proceed." — Herbert  Spencer,  Nine- 
teenth Century  Review,  Jan.,  1884. 


I  SUPPOSE  there  can  be  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  intelligent 
student  of  Nature,  by  which  term  is  to  be  understood  the  numer- 
ous and  multiform  phenomena  which  any  and  every  part  of  the 
Universe  within  his  reach  presents,  that  careful  investigation 
inevitably  leads  to  a  conviction  that  all  are  subject  to  a  uniform 
order  and  regularity  in  their  varied  operations.  And  this  reg- 
ularity is  to  be  regarded  as  applying  to  all  such  phenomena, 
whether  they  be  only  mechanical  movements  of  inert  matter, 
or  those  more  complicated  forms  of  activity  associated  with 
what  is  termed — but  not  yet  understood — as  "Life,"  either 
in  the  animal  or  vegetable  world.  For  an  example,  let  us 
consider  that  magnificent  array  which  we  call  the  "Heavens," 
concerning  which  it  is  well  known  that  millions  of  stars  are 
individually  identified  and  registered  by  the  astronomer,  and 
that  each  is  a  central  sun,  more  or  less  Hke  our  own,  pursuing 
a  rapid  course,  absolutely  uniform  and  therefore  calculable, 
so  that  its  exact  position  in  the  sky  can  be  predicted  for  any  future 
XXXIX  [  2  ] 


THE   HOPE 

minute  of  time,  even  (say)  in  the  next  century.  No  less  ordered 
in  its  movement  is  each  of  the  smaller  orbs  constituting  our 
own  solar  system;  the  eclipse  of  one  by  the  intervening  passage 
of  another,  or,  may  be,  only  by  a  shadow  cast  upon  it  in  its 
course,  being  pfedicable  with  like  certainty  years  before  the 
event  occurs. 

One  more  example,  but  from  the  no  less  wonderful  and 
extensive  world  of  the  exceeding  small.  A  competent  observer 
may,  on  seeing  attached  to  a  certain  leaf  a  minute  ovum,  be 
able  infallibly  to  predict  the  future  career  of  the  animal  which 
will  emerge  therefrom,  its  coming  changes  in  size  and  form,  the 
duration  of  its  existence,  and  the  fact  that  it  will  assuredly  give 
rise  to  other  beings  like  itself.  Hundreds  of  like  illustrations 
might  be  adduced,  but  the  above  amply  suffice  for  the  present 
purpose. 

II 

Familiar  with  the  apparently  universal  presence  of  a  uni- 
form order  dominating  the  operations  of  all  that  is  understood 
as  Matter,  roughly  classed  as  organic  and  inorganic,  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  conceive  our  observer  capable  of  resisting  a  con- 
viction that  some  marvellous  source  of  Energy  exists  behind,  or 
is  immanent  in,  the  ''Universe,"  accepting  this  as  an  appro- 
priate term  by  which  to  denote  the  sum  total  of  all  the  phenom- 
ena within  our  reach.  And  thus  the  idea  is  naturally  and 
strongly  suggested,  that  what  he  knows  as  ordered  arrangement 
as  exercised  among  men  is  manifested  in  Nature,  but  with  a 
more  complete  and  far  greater  certainty  and  stability  of  result 
in  the  latter  case.  For  "Man"  being  himself,  beyond  all 
question,  the  most  perfect  example  of  intelligent  activity  known 
to  man,  must  necessarily  be  the  type  or  measure  by  which 
he  can  attempt  to  estimate  any  other  manifest  source  of  analo- 
gous activity,  however  infinitely  greater  than  himself,  and  con- 
ceived by  him  as  the  paramount  and  ever-present  origin  or 
Cause  of  all  Existence. 

Let  me  then  venture  in  pursuing  this  inquiry  to  suggest  that 
the  "Infinite  and  Eternal  Energy"  thus  postulated  as  the  pro- 
ductive source  of  all  Natural  phenomena  may  be  regarded  by 
XXXIX  [  3  ] 


THE  HOPE 

man,  notwithstanding  his  necessarily  limited  purview,  as  to 
a  certain  extent  analogous — being  dissimilar  rather  in  the 
transcendent  vastness  of  its  scope  than  in  the  mode — with  that 
by  which  a  human  will  is  exercised.  This  being  granted,  I 
cannot  but  conclude  that  the  unknown  source  may,  and  can 
only,  be  studied,  with  the  view  of  acquiring  any  knowledge 
respecting  its  nature,  by  the  single  method  or  instrument  which 
man  has  hitherto  employed  to  acquire  all  the  knowledge  he 
has  obtained  during  the  long  period  of  his  existence  in  this 
world,  viz.,  by  the  careful  study  of  phenomena,  and  by  collect- 
ing all  data  respecting  them  which  are  proved  to  be  absolute 
facts.  These  being  collated  and  carefully  considered,  may  in 
time  enable  him  to  infer,  with  more  or  less  certainty,  the  exist- 
ence of  manifest  tendencies,  denoting  the  possession  of  at- 
tributes or  disposition  manifested  by  the  Unknown  Power,  and 
furnishing  data  capable  of  being  appreciated  or  described  as 
exercising  a  beneficial  influence,  or  the  reverse,  on  the  Human 
Race,  and  also  upon  all  lower  forms  of  Animal  Life. 

in 

But  perhaps  it  might  here  be  urged.  Why  not  avoid  the 
circumlocution  involved  by  referring  to  a  possible  Supreme 
Cause  of  all  things  in  such  terms  as  "Infinite  and  Eternal 
Energy,"  or  the  like,  and  adopt  one  of  the  brief  words  which  have 
been  in  general  use,  as  "Jehovah,"  "Theos,"  "  Jove,"  or  "God"? 
I  reply  that  they  are  avoided  precisely  because  each  of  them 
has  become  so  completely  identified  by  long  association  of  ideas 
with  schemes  of  theological  doctrine  based  on  the  alleged  ex- 
istence of  personal  appearances  on  the  earth  of  the  beings 
thus  named,  founded  on  ancient  legends  which  have  served 
without  doubt  as  useful  provisional  working  hypotheses  during 
the  early  ages  of  man's  history,  but  for  the  scientific  inquirer, 
i.e.y  the  patient  seeker  after  truth,  are  necessarily  replaced  by 
less  defined  and  more  abstract  terms.  For,  as  we  have  seen, 
no  human  mind  can  entertain,  much  less  express,  any  definite 
idea  of  the  nature  or  attributes  pertaining  to  the  Source  of  all 
power,  "Infinite  and  Eternal,"  without  conveying  at  the  same 
XXXIX  [  4  ] 


THE   HOPE 

time  the  idea  of  a  Being  or  Personality;  man's  conceptions  being 
limited  by  his  knowledge  of  the  highest  achievements  of  his  own 
race.  Hence  the  universal  use  of  anthropomorphic  symbols, 
and  the  necessary  formation  of  inadequate  corresponding  ideas, 
respecting  the  vast,  inscrutable,  and  unknown  source  and  origin 
of  all  things;  whence  an  "eidolon"  results,  no  better  than  those 
which  have  been  carved  by  the  hands  of  every  race  in  its  early 
history,  possessing  none  but  the  crudest  legends  derived  from 
necessarily  ignorant  ancestry.  And  thus  every  man  to-day 
who  has  imbibed  any  idea  of  a  material  semblance  representing 
in  his  mind  a  personal  "God,"  conditioned  by  terms  expressive 
of  human  attributes,  has  but  made  an  idol  for  himself.  And 
no  two  such  men  can  ever  by  any  possibility  make  the  same; 
each  of  these  impressions  or  concepts  must  be  that  of  the  indi- 
vidual alone,  and  from  the  very  nature  of  things  no  two  can 
be  alike. 

To  return  then  to  -the  subject  of  our  proposed  inquiry: 
there  is  but  one  mode  of  prosecuting  it  to  its  farthest  extent  with 
the  faculties  which  man  at  present  possesses,  viz.,  the  patient 
diligent  examination  of  natural  phenomena  on  a  large  scale. 
And  let  it  be  remarked  here  that  by  the  phenomena  of  the 
Universe,  or  Nature,  are  to  be  understood  not  only  those  im- 
pressions on  our  senses  which  arise  by  contact  with  what  is 
understood  as  the  external  world,  but  also  those  impressions 
which  are  derived  from  a  study  of  what  we  know  as  our  own 
consciousness— a  distinction  without  a  difference,  retained  in 
deference  to  popular  habits  of  thought,  since  every  acquisition 
of  knowledge  involves  an  act  of  consciousness. 

In  this  way  and  by  this  alone  can  we  be  sure  of  attaining  our 
object,  at  all  events  to  some  extent.  It  is  impossible  to  com- 
prehend the  vastness  and  sublimity  of  the  idea  which  the  terms 
"illimitable  space"  and  "endless  time"  express;  although 
doubtless  strictly  applicable  to  the  source  of  the  Infinite  and 
Eternal  Energy,  concerning  the  nature  and  tendencies  of  which 
we  but  crave,  if  possible,  humbly  to  learn  something  more  than 
heretofore,  by  the  mode  of  inquiry  already  suggested.  An  ob- 
ject which  beyond  all  others  is,  perhaps,  the  sublimest  and 
most  attractive  which  our  life  and  its  surroundings  can  offer. 
XXXIX  [  5  ] 


THE  HOPE 


IV 


We  will  next  consider  the  question,  What  has  Man  ac- 
quired during  his  long  career  by  the  so-called  Supernatural 
revelations  alleged  to  have  been  communicated  to  him  by  a 
supreme  and  all-powerful  Deity? 

Whatever  he  may  have  learned,  "at  sundry  times  and  in 
divers  manners,"  by  means  of  ''Divine  Revelation,"  this  fact 
at  least  must  be  universally  admitted,  viz.,  that  the  single  ob- 
ject of  all  of  them  has  been  to  inculcate  Religious  and  Moral 
duties.  The  Religious  duties  have  consisted  chiefly  in  demand- 
ing constant  and  humble  service  to  an  Omnipotent  Deity,  one 
God,  of  whom,  taking  the  words  attributed  to  the  Founder 
of  Christianity  as  a  command,  he  said,  "Thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with 
all  thy  mind.  This  is  the  first  and  great  commandment" 
(Matthew  c.  xxii.,  v.  37,  38) — a  service  the  neglect  of 
which,  according  to  the  tenets  of  Christianity,  entails  the 
severest  punishment,  not  in  the  present,  but  in  a  future  and 
eternal  hell;  while  a  never-ending  life  of  supreme  happiness  is 
promised  as  the  reward  of  faithful  obedience. 

The  Moral  obligations  enforced,  that  is,  the  conduct  of 
Man  to  his  fellows,  are  signified  and  enunciated  by  impressive 
exhortations  to  charity  and  kindness  to  the  poor  and  afflicted. 
The  passage  above  quoted  continues  as  follows:  "And  a  second 
like  unto  it  is  this.  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself" 
(Matthew  c.  xxii.,  v.  39).  Then  follow  the  significant  words, 
so  opposed  to  the  oppressive  ceremonial  of  the  ancient  Jewish 
usages  then  in  force:  "On  these  two  commandments  hangeth 
the  whole  law,  and  the  prophets"  (v.  40).* 

Subsequently  Christianity,  organized  by  the  great  Teacher's 
immediate  followers,  who  were  Greeks  speaking  and  writing 
that  language,  took  the  form  of  the  Greek  or  Eastern  Church 
during  the  second  century  of  our  era.  The  doctrines  of  Chris- 
tianity are  still  taught  in  that  tongue  throughout  Russia,  where 
it  is  the  National  Church  to  this  day.     From  this  source  the 

*  Revised  Version  used  throughout. 
XXXIX  [  6  ] 


THE  HOPE 

Romish  Church  arose,  and  allying  itself  to  the  Imperial  power 
the  Bishop  of  Rome  soon  became  the  Pope,  and  an  infallible 
head  of  the  Catholic  Church,  requiring  absolute  obedience  in  all 
matters  of  faith  and  practice  from  her  adherents.  In  England 
the  Reformed  or  Protestant  Religion  is  the  National  Church;  and 
notwithstanding  its  evident  and  admitted  defects,  its  inevitable 
division  into  numerous  hostile  sects,  differing  seriously  respect- 
ing matters  of  belief,  it  has  doubtless  been  in  past  ages  well 
suited  to  the  nations  who  have  embraced  it  and  have  been 
influenced  thereby.  Thus  the  establishment  of  public  hospitals 
and  other  institutions  for  the  care  of  the  poor  and  afflicted  are 
found  among  the  European  races  who  have  adopted  the  re- 
ligious faith  which  is  identified  chiefly  with  the  young  Jew- 
ish devotee  whose  history,  although  imperfectly  known  as  to 
matters  of  detail,  affords  little  ground  for  doubt  that  he  taught 
his  followers  very  little  or  no  dogma,  but  simply  the  worship 
of  One  God,  "His  Father" — and  "Theirs"  also — the  practice 
of  kindness,  truth,  self-denial  and  of  a  simple  and  blameless 
life ;  and  that  he  set  them  the  example  of  going  about  doing  good 
to  others,  even  to  their  enemies. 

And  such  charity  and  care  for  the  suffering  is  held  in  all  parts 
of  the  world  to  be  the  duty  of  Man,  wherever  he  has  become 
civilized,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see.  And  let  it  be  added  here 
once  and  for  all,  that  each  of  the  varied  forms  of  Religion  which 
have  appeared  on  earth,  although  claiming  to  be  supernaturally 
revealed,  must  be  regarded  as  the  natural  outcome  of  Man's 
own  wants  and  feelings,  the  sense  of  his  desire  to  recognize  a 
Power  above  him — "One  that  is  greater  than  I" — worthy  to  be 
worshipped ;  trusted  in  for  help  in  time  of  need,  for  justice  when 
oppressed;  One  that  might  hear  his  prayers  and  accept  his 
sacrifice.  All  have  been  useful  aids  in  his  progress,  and  have 
arisen  as  the  natural  result  of  his  own  development. 

A  brief  sketch  of  the  chief  religions  which  have  thus  arisen 
in  the  later  ages  of  the  world's  history  may  follow  here.  That 
with  which  we  in  this  country  are  necessarily  most  familiar,  by 
no  means  the  oldest  in  point  of  date,  is  believed  to  have  origi- 
nated among  the  ancient  Semitic  race,  and  was  known  as  Juda- 
ism, still  largely  prevalent,  but  modified  at  a  comparatively  re- 
XXXIX  [  7  ] 


THE  HOPE 

cent  date,  that  adopted  to  mark  our  own  era  A.D.,  by  the  out- 
growth and  separation  of  an  important  and  powerful  reUgious 
organization  and  creed,  which  has  been  already  noticed,  Chris- 
tianity, now  accepted  by  the  greater  part  of  Europe  and  its 
dependencies  and  by  the  United  States  of  America.  The  most 
ancient  of  all  known  to  us  is  the  system  of  religious  worship 
and  rites  of  early  Egypt,  of  which  interesting  records  exist  dating 
certainly  to  5,000  B.C.  After  these  should  be  named  the  re- 
ligions of  Babylonia  and  Assyria,  which  follow  Egypt  closely 
in  respect  of  antiquity.  An  ancient  lawgiver  in  China,  Con- 
fucius, who  flourished  about  550  B.C.,  was  remarkable  for  his 
honest  and  upright  rule,  led  a  virtuous  life,  and  had  many 
disciples.  He  sought  knowledge  from  every  available  source, 
and  after  death  his  acts  and  sayings  were  collected  by  them  in 
several  books,  the  chief  of  which  is  his  "  Code  of  Morals,"  which 
contained  among  many  other  precepts  the  precise  words  of  the 
Golden  Rule  of  Christian  Scripture.  But  he  taught  nothing 
respecting  a  god  or  religious  worship.  The  ancient  religion  of 
the  Persians,  now  that  of  the  Parsees,  was  to  a  great  extent 
founded  by  Zoroaster,  who  lived  at  least  800-900  years  B.C., 
possibly  earlier.  Subsequently  it  became  related  in  some  de- 
gree with  Sanskrit.  Its  ancient  writings  form  "the  Zend 
Avesta"  or  commentaries.  One  great  and  good  creator  was 
recognized  ("Ormuzd"),  regarded  as  dual  at  a  later  period, 
whose  emblem  was  fire;  and  evil  spirits  headed  by  ("  Ahriman"), 
the  spirit  of  evil,  opposed  him.  Numerous  sacrifices  and  pen- 
ances were  enforced;  strict  purity  of  life  was  held  essential  in 
all  the  disciples  of  the  faith.  Somewhat  later  is  the  religion  of 
Buddha,  which  possesses  the  largest  number  of  followers  of  any 
religion  in  the  world.  Its  origin  dates  from  about  500  B.C., 
when  its  founder,  a  royal  prince  in  Northern  India  (Prince 
Saddhartha),  devoted  himself  to  an  ascetic  life  and  contem- 
plation, and  to  a  study  of  the  causes  of  things,  regarding  ig- 
norance as  the  greatest  evil.  The  records  made  by  his  adher- 
ents became  sacred  books,  and  the  cult  flourishes  not  only  in 
India,  but  throughout  a  large  part  of  China.  It  suffices  only  to 
mention  briefly  the  religious  Hierarchies  of  ancient  Greece  and 
Rome,  constituted  by  large  groups  of  deities,  some  arising  out 
XXXIX  [  8  ] 


THE  HOPE 

of  historic  legends.  The  divinities  so-called  of  Greece  were 
especially  represented  as  exhibiting  all  the  follies  and  vices  of  hu- 
manity. Those  of  Rome  were  related  rather  with  the  needs 
of  husbandry,  or  of  the  shepherd  and  his  flocks — as  well  as  those 
of  the  house  and  the  family:  hence  the  "Lares  and  Penates." 
For  the  former  the  Greek  poets  and  satirists  had  little  respect ; 
while  the  philosophers  derided  the  rites  and  ceremonies  which 
were  largely  performed  by  the  common  people,  but  they  in- 
culcated the  advantages  of  a  good  hfe  as  acceptable  to  the  Gods.^ 
Of  any  future  state  their  views  were  at  first  indistinct,  but 
gradually  a  belief  was  established  in  some  system  of  future  re- 
wards and  punishments  after  death.  There  were  no  sacred 
books,  and  any  idea  of  an  evil  spirit  or  devil  was  unknown. 
More  recent  than  Christianity  was  the  advent  of  Mahometanism 
(570-622  A.D.),  in  the  divine  origin  of  which  its  followers  have 
the  profoundest  belief,  adducing  ample  evidence  thereof.  It  is 
more  closely  alHed  to  Christianity  than  any  other,  since  it 
recognizes  one  supreme  God  as  the  "Only  God,"  together  with 
the  claims  of  Moses  and  the  Jewish  prophets,  even  those  of 
Jesus  Christ  himself,  to  have  received  Divine  authority;  thence- 
forth, however,  to  be  superseded  by  the  Prophet.  To  its  later 
date  may  perhaps  be  attributed  his  wise  laws  and  regulations, 
which  are  minutely  recorded  in  the  Koran,  and  contain  numer- 
ous incentives  to  the  constant  practice  of  charity,  mercy,  and 
kindness.  Moreover,  he  absolutely  proscribed  the  use  of  all 
intoxicating  liquors,  and  also  of  betting  and  gambling,  two 
vices  which  are  disastrously  prominent  in  all  Christian  coun- 
tries. 


I  propose  now  to  make  a  brief  outline  of  the  history  of  Man's 
long  and  painful  progress  while  slowly  acquiring  knowledge 
of  the  objects  by  which  he  has  been  surrounded,  that  is  to  say, 

^Socrates,  born  469  B.C.,  concerned  himself  with  Ethics,  and 
taught  that  virtue  is  knowledge  and  vice  is  ignorance;  Plato,  born 
427  B.C.,  was  the  master  of  Aristotle,  born  384  B.C.  Both  taught 
that  goodness  and  truth  are  among  the  highest  virtues,  although  the 
latter  differed  in  many  other  things  from  his  master. 
XXXIX  [  9  ] 


THE  HOPE 

of  the  numerous  and  varied  conditions  and  influences  to  which 
the  course  of  Nature  has  everywhere  exposed  him;  and  thus  to 
demonstrate  that  he  has  attained  his  present  position  solely 
by  his  own  unaided  efforts.  For  as  before  stated  it  is  cer- 
tain that  no  record  exists  to  show  that  any  divine  or  super- 
natural revelation  has  ever  afforded  man  aid  or  instruction  in 
matters  relating  to  his  physical  well-being  during  the  laborious 
course  he  has  pursued  throughout  countless  ages  of  tardy  and 
difficult  progress,  from  the  earliest  savage  life  to  the  present  day. 
Every  advantage  has  taken  place  by  the  gradual  improvement  of 
his  faculties  through  the  development  of  a  more  complex  brain 
through  lower  forms,  until  it  has  attained  its  present  condition, 
with  capability  of  increase  in  coming  ages  to  an  unknown  extent. 
Man  at  first  acquired  an  activity  of  brain  and  nervous 
system  not  possessed  by  those  of  his  progenitors,  now  termed 
"Anthropoid  Apes."  These  had  gradually  assumed  a  more  or 
less  upright  position  for  special  purposes  of  the  body,  thus 
differentiating  the  four  legs  of  a  lower  animal  into  upper  and 
lower  extremities  each  employed  for  special  and  distinctive 
service.  These  large  apes  usually  took  shelter  among  the  lofty 
branches  of  large  forest  trees,  and  lived  chiefly  on  fruit  and  nuts, 
with  now  and  then  eggs  and  young  birds.  Like  them,  man 
probably  at  first  used  similar  food,  but  in  course  of  time  added 
thereto  the  flesh  of  wdld  animals  trapped  in  the  forest  and  fish 
caught  in  the  streams.  Exposed  to  cold,  wind,  tempests,  and 
inundations,  he  made  himself  clothes  from  the  skins  of  the 
animals  he  learned  to  kill,  and  inhabited  natural  caverns  which 
he  probably  excavated  or  improved  for  himself ;  at  first,  perhaps, 
by  using  for  the  purpose  portions  of  the  branches  of  trees  blown 
down  by  the  wind.  Or  of  these  he  might  also  construct  rude 
huts  to  protect  himself  and  his  young  ones  from  the  elements,  and 
from  the  attacks  of  carnivorous  foes  of  many  kinds.  He  would 
soon  learn  to  make  long  pointed  stakes  of  hard  wood,  to  be 
used  as  weapons  for  defence  or  to  kill  animals  for  food. 
Abundant  evidence  exists  in  many  parts  of  the  world  that  in 
prehistoric  times  flints  were  utilized  as  cutting  instruments  for 
such  and  other  purposes;  at  first  being  rudely  broken  into  thin 
flakes  so  as  to  produce  a  sharp  edge.  These  have  been  found  in 
XXXIX  [  lo  ] 


THE   HOPE 

great  quantity,  some  of  them  very  skilfully  made,  in  caverns  and 
in  other  places  of  deposit.  When  the  use  of  the  bow  as  an 
instrument  of  propulsion  for  killing  prey  and  in  fighting  had 
been  discovered,  it  was  rendered  more  efficient  by  tipping  the 
arrows  with  sharp  flint  points  as  arrow-heads.  From  very  large 
flints  were  also  fashioned  axes  for  cutting  wood,  etc.,  and  for 
weapons.  They  were  attached  to  wooden  handles  by  a  strip 
of  hardened  animal  hide.  Some  of  these  flint  instruments  were 
ultimately  made  with  serrated  edges  for  use  as  saws.  The  bones 
of  small  animals  were  utilized  for  making  needles  and  other 
finely  pointed  instruments. 

The  Flint  Age  was  succeeded  by  the  discovery  of  copper  and 
by  the  use  of  bronze,  of  which  weapons  and  utensils  were 
thenceforth  largely  made,  and  used  almost  universally  for 
several  centuries;  to  be  superseded  by  the  discovery  in  modern 
times  of  iron,  and  its  conversion  into  steel  for  appliances  of  all 
kinds  as  at  present. 

The  process  by  which  man  acquired  the  first  rudiments  of 
the  great  faculty  of  speech  must  have  been  a  very  gradual  one. 
The  earhest  attempts  probably  consisted  in  improving  upon  the 
rude  sounds,  and  even  musical  notes,  by  which  the  lower  ani- 
mals expressed  tender  emotions  to  their  mates,  and  approached 
the  rival  or  the  enemy  with  loud  and  angry  cries,  which  signified 
displeasure  or  even  a  challenge  to  combat.  Language  of  a  primi- 
tive kind  followed,  and  took  the  place  of  signs,  as  association 
with  his  fellows  slowly  improved  by  experience;  while  the  growth 
of  family  ties,  often  apparent  among  some  of  the  lower  animals, 
became  naturally  more  highly  developed  by  man,  and  the 
aggregation  of  families  on  some  fertile  or  sheltered  spot  gave 
rise  to  the  formation  of  a  small  community.  These  increased 
in  size,  until  the  larger  combination  of  a  tribe  resulted,  leading 
to  the  adoption  of  customs  gradually  acquired  to  promote  the 
common  welfare.  By  this  means  the  principle  of  sacrificing 
a  certain  portion  of  personal  liberty  by  each  individual,  for 
the  good  of  the  "commonwealth,"  was  gradually  discovered 
to  be  a  wise  arrangement  and  to  promote  the  happiness  of  all. 
Man  became  social  in  his  habits,  and — without  knowing  it — 
learned  the  first  lesson  not  only  in  law,  but  in  ethics,  the  value 

XXXIX  [  1 1  ] 


THE  HOPE 

of  self-denial  for  the  good  of  all.  And  it  is  worthy  of  note 
that  each  tribe,  in  course  of  time,  generally  became  provided 
with  its  local  Deity,  and  with  some  rudimentary  form  of  re- 
ligious worship. 

Thus,  various  languages  naturally  arose  in  different  parts  of 
the  world.  The  common  objects  daily  seen,  by  the  members 
of  each  tribe  or  community,  would  be  identified  by  a  sound  or 
word,  suggested  perhaps  by  the  appearance  of  the  object,  and 
adopted  in  order  to  denote  it.  All  the  first  words  were  there- 
fore nouns;  and  by  the  same  process  their  qualities  came  to  be 
indicated,  and  adjectives  were  employed  to  describe  them. 
Action  had  to  be  expressed,  and  verbs  came  into  use ;  applicable 
to  the  past,  present,  and  future  in  respect  of  deeds.  While 
articles  and  pronouns  appeared,  for  obvious  purposes,  and  so 
on.  In  this  manner  a  spoken  literature  was  formed,  and  was 
transmitted  as  "hearsay"  from  father  to  son,  in  the  forms  of 
tradition,  story,  proverb,  or  song.  Long  after,  written  symbols 
were  invented  and  the  permanence  of  these  traditions  pro- 
vided for.  Much  interesting  light  on  man's  early  history  has 
been  obtained  by  modern  scientific  researches  in  connection 
with  ancient  languages.  The  rights  of  personal  ownership 
must  have  been  recognized  at  an  early  period  in  man's  social 
history.  The  maker  of  a  flint  axe  or  the  builder  of  a  hut  would 
naturally  be  entitled  to  regard  these  as  belonging  to  him  for  his 
own  exclusive  use,  and  the  idea  of  property  came  to  be  realized. 
Then  the  mode  of  transferring  of  property  from  one  owner 
to  another  had  to  be  provided  for.  At  first  it  was  by  barter 
only — a  custom  at  present  still  extant  among  savage  tribes. 
Then,  as  the  community  increased,  some  "common  medium  of 
exchange"  was  found,  through  objects  generally  prized,  as 
skins,  cowrie  shells,  etc.,  etc.  It  became  necessary  next  to 
find  some  article  which  could  be  adopted  as  "  a  measure  of 
value,"  and  also  one  which  could  be  stored  without  deprecia- 
tion in  quality;  which  led  to  the  use  of  the  precious  metals, 
gold  and  silver,  copper  and  bronze  being  employed  for  articles 
of  [small  value;  and  ultimately  to  the  circulation  of  portions 
of  each  metal — known  weights — as  coins,  and  stamped  as  such 
by  the  chief  authority. 

XXXIX  [  12  ] 


THE  HOPE 

The  discovery  of  fire,  and  the  power  of  producing  it  at  will, 
must  have  marked  an  epoch  in  his  early  history;  friction  be- 
tween two  pieces  of  hard  wood  is  known  to  have  been  practised 
for  the  purpose  of  producing  it  by  the  isolated  savage  inhabitants 
of  distant  islands  in  the  Pacific,  discovered  by  some  early 
navigator  some  centuries  ago.  And  continuous  light  was  pro- 
vided for  by  rude  oil  lamps,  which  as  well  as  common  drinking- 
vessels  were  made  of  a  primitive  form  of  pottery. 

Agriculture,  in  an  elementary  form,  became  an  occupation 
at  a  very  early  period,  by  the  sowing  of  seeds  which  produced 
edible  vegetables;  and  selection  of  the  seed-bearing  grasses, 
by  cultivation  of  the  best  growths,  led  in  the  course  of  years  to 
the  production  of  the  grains  now  known  as  rye,  oats,  wheat, 
maize,  rice,  etc.  Meantime  the  gradual  domestication  and 
breeding  of  animals  for  flesh  arid  milk  as  food,  and  also  for 
employment  in  draught,  such  as  of  carts  on  rollers  and  rude 
wheels,  etc.,  increased  man's  resources  considerably.  The 
hollow  trunks  of  trees  were  utilized,  and  trimmed  into  shape,  to 
form  canoes  and  boats ;  and  these  were  equipped  with  sails  when 
the  art  of  weaving  mats  from  dried  wide-leaved  plants  from 
marshy  soils  had  been  attained. 

Not  only  by  sailors  for  the  purpose  of  navigation  at  night, 
but  by  the  shepherds  with  their  flocks  on  extensive  plains, 
attentive  observations  to  the  course  of  the  sun  and  moon  by 
day,  and  of  the  greater  stars  by  night  served  the  purpose  of 
timekeeping.  And  the  sun's  rays  by  day  were  made  to  record 
themselves  automatically,  by  marking  the  process  of  a  shadow 
from  an  upright  stake  in  the  ground — a  rudimentary  dial.  These 
early  attempts  were  followed  by  careful  observers  among  the 
Chaldaeans,  Chinese,  and  Hindoos.  The  first  mentioned,  prob- 
ably some  3,000  years  B.C.,  named  the  chief  stars  and  grouped 
some  of  the  constellations,  divided  the  day  into  hours,  etc.  The 
Ptolemaic  system  followed,  and  is  a  record  of  researches  first 
made  by  Hipparchus,  the  Greek  philosopher  (about  150  B.C.), 
by  Ptolemy  of  Alexandria  (middle  of  second  century  A.D.),  who 
extended  his  predecessor's  work  and  left  voluminous  records 
which  more  or  less  maintained  their  influence  until  the  appear- 
ance of  the  great  mediaeval  observers,  soon  to  follow. 
XXXIX  [  13  ] 


THE  HOPE 

Here  it  may  be  appropriate  to  recall  the  fact  that  up  to  a 
comparatively  recent  period  the  Western  nations  universally 
regarded  the  earth  as  a  large  circular  plain  with  an  undulating 
surface,  forming  the  centre  of  the  universe.  Those  especially 
who  were  acquainted  with  the  records  known  to  us  as  "Sacred 
Writ,"  learned  from  it  that  the  "Heavens  above"  formed  the 
special  dwelling-place  of  "Jehovah,"  "God"  of  the  universe, 
surrounded  by  ministering  angels  who  executed  His  will, 
often  indeed  appearing  in  bodily  form  to  man  to  announce 
His  behests.  From  the  sam.e  source  he  learned  also  that,  on 
the  fourth  day  of  creation,  "God  made  two  great  lights";  the 
greater  light  to  rule  the  day,  and  the  lesser  light  to  rule  the  night; 
he  made  the  "stars  also"  (Gen.,  chap,  i.,  v.  i6).  All  these  were 
supposed  to  be  fixed  in  "  a  firmament "  which  revolved  round  the 
earth,  the  latter  having  no  movement  of  any  kind. 

Below  this  plain,  at  an  unknown  but  not  great  depth,  there 
was  a  region  of  gloom,  which  the  spirits  of  the  dead  inhabited, 
known  as  "Sheol";  from  which  by  means  of  the  "Seer,"  they 
could  sometimes  be  recalled  to  earth  in  order  to  foretell  events ; 
since  a  few  of  those  who,  during  life,  had  been  distinguished 
as  favorites  of  Jehovah  were  believed  to  be  capable  of  so  doing. 

The  very  "recent  period"  named  above  may  be  more 
distinctly  indicated  by  devoting  a  few  lines  to  define  the  views 
of  three  of  the  principal  early  astronomers. 

Copernicus  (1473-1543  a.d.)  beheved  the  sun  was  always  at 
rest,  and  formed  the  centre  of  the  universe;  that  the  earth  was 
a  spherical  body,  which,  with  other  planets,  moved  round  it, 
but  revolved  on  its  own  axis,  thus  causing  day  and  night.  He 
had  no  idea  of  the  importance  of  the  stars,  but  regarded  them 
as  lesser  lights  at  an  uncertain  distance. 

Tycho  Brahe  (1546-1601  a.d.),  who  beheved  that  the  sun 
moved  around  the  earth,  will  be  named  as  holding  a  distin- 
guished position  in  the  annals  of  the  science.  He  had  a  noble 
observatory  well  furnished  with  instruments,  and  gave  an  im- 
pulse to  astronomical  studies. 

Galileo  (1564-1642)  was  the  first  to  employ  an  arrangement 
of  lenses,  for  the  purpose  of  forming  an  astronomical  telescope, 
by  which  means  he  discovered  the  Milky  Way  to  be  formed  of 
XXXIX  [  14  ] 


THE   HOPE 

separate  stars.  He  afterward  openly  taught  at  Rome  his 
bcHef  in  the  rotation  of  the  earth  on  its  axis,  and  its  annual 
passage  round  the  sun;  and  was  in  consequence  summoned 
JDcfore  the  Holy  Inquisition,  and  was  tortured  and  imprisoned 
when  seventy  years  of  age  for  persisting  in  his  opinion,  but  he 
was  ultimately  set  at  liberty  by  the  succeeding  Pope. 

It  now  only  remains  to  be  said  that  unceasing  and  intelhgent 
study  and  greatly  improved  telescopes  in  every  part  of  the 
civilized  world,  aided  by  the  recently  discovered  arts  of  photog- 
raphy and  spectrum-analysis,  have  led  to  the  astonishing  re- 
sults achieved  during  the  nineteenth  century. 

The   astronomical  discoveries  which,   as   above  observed, 
man's  own  unaided  labors  have  achieved,  demonstrate  beyond  all 
possibility  of  doubt  that  the  so-called  Mosaic  records,  above 
quoted,  are  quite  untrustworthy.     Nevertheless,  they  are  still 
accepted  by  all  Christian  Churches,  and  are  publicly  read,  in 
turn  with  other  extracts  equally  questionable,  twice  or  thrice  a 
week  as  "Holy  Scripture."     The  earth  is  now  known  to  be  an 
insignificant  speck,  a  mere  atom  of  dust  in  the  universe,  and 
that  the  milHons  of  stars,  visible  with  any  good  telescope,  are 
suns  like  our  own,  many  being  much  larger,  and  that  these  are 
almost  certainly  surrounded  by  encircHng  planets;  since  spec- 
trum-analysis has  proved  that  the  same  chemical  elements  which 
are  so  active  in  every  part  of  our  own  system,  are  also  the  com- 
ponents of  every  one  of  the  rest  within  our  ken.     Now  it  is  im- 
possible for  any  one  f amiUar  with  scientific  chemistry  to  con- 
ceive that  those  potent  elements  oxygen,  hydrogen,  chlorine, 
nitrogen,  carbon,  calcium,  sodium,  the  metals,  and  the   rest, 
can  be  present  there  without  activity.     Hence  we  are  impelled 
to  believe  that  the  mineral,  vegetable,  and  animal  kingdoms  are 
in  course  of  development  in  each  of  those  innumerable  systems, 
and  will  become  active  with  the  stage  of   fitness,  varying,  of 
course,  according  to  the  temperature  at  which  each  in  its  history 
has  arrived;  a  certain  very  moderate  range  only  of  heat  being 
compatible  with  the  existence  of  vegetable  and  animal  fife. 
Hence  it  is  impossible  not  to  believe  that  a  large  proportion  are 
inhabited  by  organisms  more  or  less  akin  to  those  which  flourish 
here.     We,  in  our  little  home  of  earth,  may  well  be  devoutly 
XXXIX  [  15  ] 


THE  HOPE 

humble  in  presence  of  the  grandeur  of  the  universe,  and  in  the 
still  greater  grandeur  of  the  Author,  if  we  may  descend  for  a 
moment  to  the  use  of  an  anthropomorphic  term  to  designate  the 
Power  of  whom  nothing  can  be  truly  known  but  by  the  study  of 
the  phenomena  around  us. 

VI 

I  shall  not  furnish  in  detail  any  further  history  of  Man's 
progress  to  illustrate  what  he  has  accomplished  by  his  own 
unaided  efforts;  but  shall  simply  enumerate,  in  a  tabular  form, 
some  of  the  chief  results  which  he  has  achieved  thereby : 

I.  All  that  is  comprehended  under  the  general  term  of 
"Fine  Arts" — painting,  sculpture,  architecture,  metal- work, 
fictile  products,  pottery,  etc. 

II.  The  discovery  of  gravitation,  and  the  laws^  which  govern 
force.     At  a  later  period,  the  conservation  of  energy. 

III.  The  discovery  of  tlie  laws  of  light,  heat,  and  sound. 

IV.  All  that  is  comprehended  by  the  science  of  chemistry,  and 
its  innumerable  practical  apphcations  to  every  department  of 
human  activity. 

V.  The  discovery  of  the  existence  and  of  the  laws  of  electric- 
ity, the  utihty  of  which  it  is  already  impossible  to  overestimate. 

The  word  "Law,"  as  used  here  and  in  other  parts  of  this  essay, 
has  always  the  restricted  sense  of  implying  any  ordinary  sequence  of 
events  which  a  faithfully  observed  experience  has  led  man  to  believe 
will  continue.  As  Huxley  says  in  his  well-known  "  Essay  on  Decartes"  : 
"  'Law'  means  a  rule  which  we  have  always  found  to  hold  good, 
and  which  we  expect  always  will  hold  good."  .  .  .  He  further 
observes — explaining  that  all  knowledge  is  relative  to  the  individual, 
and  that  all  the  phenomena  of  Nature  are  known  to  us  only  as  facts 
of  consciousness — that  the  conclusions  logically  drawn  from  them 
are  always  verified  by  experience.  {Vide  Decartes,  Discourse  on 
Using  One's  Reason  Rightly,  etc."  Huxley's  Collected  Works,  vol.  i., 
pp.  176  and  193.) 

"Thus  the  belief  in  an  unchanging  order — the  belief  in  law,  now 
spreading  among  the  more  cultivated  throughout  the  civilized  world, 
is  a  belief  of  which  the  primitive  man  is  absolutely  incapable.  He 
is  unable  even  to  think  of  a  single  law,  much  less  of  law  in  general." 
— Herbert  Spencer,  Princ.  of  Psychology,  §  488. 
XXXIX  [  16  ] 


THE  HOPE 

VI.  The  sciences  of  animal  physiology,  botany,  and  medicine ; 
the  microscope  in  connection  therewith;  the  discovery  of  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood ;  of  the  functions  of  the  brain  and  nervous 
system ;  the  laws  of  health  and  the  nature  and  cause  of  disease. 
The  omnipresent  activity  and  importance  of  bacteria,  with  all 
that  is  understood  as  sanitary  science ;  the  latter  having  had  im- 
mense influence  on  the  art  of  surgery,  and  enormously  increas- 
ing the  service  it  is  capable  of  rendering  to  suffering  humanity. 

VII.  Man's  knowledge  of  the  condition  of  the  earth  and  of 
its  inhabitants  in  prehistoric  time,  as  learned  by  palaeontological 
research,  i.e.,  the  discovery  of  the  remains  of  animals  which 
lived  many  thousands  or  even  milhons  of  years  ago,  and  found 
in  stratified  deposits  far  below  the  present  surface.  A  science 
at  present  in  its  infancy,  so  small  a  portion  of  the  earth's  crust 
having  been  yet  explored. 


PART  II 

I  have  now  finished  that  part  of  my  work  which  has  been 
devoted  to  the  object  of  demonstrating  two  important  statements: 

First,  that  Man  has,  throughout  a  long  and  very  gradual 
course  of  development  from  his  pre-historic  origin,  acquired  all 
his  stores  of  natural  knowledge— in  its  widest  sense— solely  by 
his  own  unaided  efforts. 

Secondly,  that  the  authenticity  of  the  ancient  records,  existing 
in  several  parts  of  the  world,  made  at  different  periods  of  his 
history,  and  regarded  as  supernatural  or  "divinely"  revealed, 
respecting  the  origin  of  the  entire  universe,  especially  that  of 
the  earth,  including  man  himself  and  his  duties  to  an  alleged 
Creator,  and  asserting  the  existence  of  a  future  endless  state 
of  rewards  and  punishments  for  every  individual  after  death, 
has  never  been  substantiated,  and  is  in  fact  unsupported  by 
evidence. 

VII 

I  now  arrive  at  the  interesting  and  important  stage  of  our 
inquiry:    What   does   our   survey   of   man's   history   and   ex- 
XXXIX  [  17  1 


THE   HOPE 

pericnce,  and  of  his  relations  to  the  phenomena  of  nature, 
teach  us  respecting  the  Tendencies,  Disposition,  and  Purpose 
— if  permitted  to  use  terms  suggested  by  purely  human  feelings 
and  ideas  to  convey  a  meaning  which  cannot  be  otherwise  ex- 
pressed— manifested  by  that  "Infinite  and  Eternal  Energy" 
from  which  all  things  proceed?  This  inquiry  has  exercised 
the  minds  of  many;  nay  more,  has  been  an  absorbing  study 
for  the  thinking  part  of  mankind  from  very  early  times  to  the 
the  present.  Hypotheses  and  speculations  innumerable,  some 
of  which  were  at  first  crude  and  obviously  untenable,  need 
not  be  referred  to  further  now.  The  fact  which  alone  con- 
cerns us  here  is,  that  they  evince  the  existence  of  a  deep  in- 
terest in  an  all-prevading  desire  to  solve,  if  possible,  the  mighty 
problem  here  presented. 

I  declare  my  firm  belief,  and  desire  to  repeat  it,  that  one 
method  alone  can  throw  light  on  the  subject,  viz.,  a  studious 
observation  of  the  facts  of  nature  and  of  the  inferences  which  may 
be  legitimately  drawn  from  them. 

I  shall  consider  what  we  may  thus  attempt  to  discover  re- 
specting the  "Source  of  Infinite  and  Eternal  Energy"  under 
three  heads,  regarding  each  as  a  form  of  its  manifestation,  viz.  : 
I.  Infinite  Power. 
II.  Infinite  Knowledge. 

III.  Tendencies  or  Disposition. 

I.  Power;  beyond  man's  faculties  to  grasp  or  comprehend. 
Eternal  and  all-pervading,  therefore  ever-present,  wherever  we 
may  be,  at  every  instant  of  our  lives.  In  a  certain  sense  by  no 
means  invisible,  for  its  working  is  everywhere  around  us  and  with- 
in us,  in  every  molecule  of  our  bodies ;  in  the  curiously  and  beauti- 
fully arranged  adaptations,  not  yet  half  discovered,  by  which  we 
come  into  contact  with  external  nature — the  "not  our  self" — 
which  meets  us  everywhere.  Let  me  repeat  that  it  is  a  fact  be- 
yond controversy,  always  to  be  borne  in  mind,  that  Man  is  the 
most  finished  product  known  on  earth  of  "Nature's"  work — 
that  is,  which  has  resulted  from  the  "Infinite  and  Eternal  En- 
ergy"; the  noblest  and  completest  manifestation,  so  to  speak,  of 
the  "divine  afilatus"— the  "Temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost"  in 
ancient  language,  used  with  undesigned  prophetic  purview 
XXXIX  [  i8  ] 


THE   HOPE 

in  times  when  men  were  ignorant  of  Nature's  laws,  and  when 
faith  in  the  Invisible  must  necessarily  suffice  for  their  needs, 
until  discovery  of  scientific  methods  had  revealed  the  existence 
of  hitherto  unknown  powers  within  and  around  us;  facts  in 
place  of  fables.  Then  much  which  was  formerly  invisible  is 
now  visible ;  and  we  might  adopt  for  ourselves  the  old  expressive 
but  mystic  saying  of  "the  Master,"  "Behold  the  kingdom  of 
God  is  within  you." 

II.  Infinite  Knowledge  and  Intelligence. — We  possess 
no  language  adequate  to  express  what  must  be  the  deep  con- 
viction of  all  religious  persons — and  even  of  men  in  general,  if 
they  consider  the  question — respecting  this  subject.  By  far 
the  greater  part  of  the  present  essay  has  been  really  devoted 
to  illustrating  the  transcendent  Intelligence  which  has  ordered 
the  organization  of  the  Universe,  so  far  as  we  know  and  are 
able  to  understand  it;  and  I  have  no  stronger  terms  in  which 
to  express  admiration.  Nothing  then  remains  but  to  bow  in 
humility,  and  confess  in  the  words  of  the  Hebrew  poet,  "Such 
knowledge  is  too  wonderful  for  me:  it  is  high,  I  cannot  attain 
unto  it "  (Ps.  cxxxix.  v.  6). 

HI.— The  third  and  last  subject  of  inquiry  is.  What  can 
we  rightly  infer  relatively  to  the  Tendencies,  Disposition 
OR  Purpose^  of  the  unknown  "Source  of  Infinite  and  Eternal 
Energy  from  which  all  things  proceed  "  ? 

I  shall  first  revert  to  the  unquestionable  fact,  on  which  I  laid 
so  much  stress,  and  so  fully  illustrated  at  the  commencement, 
of  the  history  of  Man's  career  and  progress  in  this  world— that 
it  had  been  accomplished  solely  by  "his  own  unaided  efforts." 

For  it  constitutes  the  most  important  fact  in  his  history; 
and  is  for  me  a  signal  illustration  not  only  of  the  wisdom  but 
especially  of  the  beneficence  of  the  great  Source  we  are  study- 
ing. Nevertheless,  the  first  and  most  natural  feeling  suggested 
by  a  survey  of  that  long  and  difficult  course  which  man  has  trav- 
ersed through  countless  ages,  may  be  for  many  one  of  pity— 
with  a  sense  of  regret  that,  had  it  been  possible,  aid  should  not 

^Applying  these  terms  as  we  should  to  the  action  of  human 
beings;  an  analogy  which  must  be  permitted  to  Man's  limited  means 
of  expression. 

XXXIX  [  19  ] 


THE  HOPE 

now  and  then  have  been  proffered,  perhaps  at  certain  turning 
pomts  in  his  history,  when  apparently  it  would  have  been 
greatly  serviceable.  And  not  a  few  have  expressed  inability  to 
believe  in  the  beneficent  tendencies  of  the  Unknown  Source  of 
all  power,  and  have  inferred  evidence  of  neglect,  or  of  indif- 
ference, in  regard  to  man's  progress  and  welfare. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  next  to  certain  that  had  the 
human  race  received  at  any  time  a  revelation,  say,  of  the  means 
of  obtaining  fire,  or  of  the  elements  of  agriculture,  or  of  the 
means  of  obtaining  complete  relief  from  suffering  which  modern 
science  has  discovered,  man  would  never  have  become  the  ef- 
ficient and  highly  endowed  creature  he  is.  He  has  fought  his 
own  way  throughout,  has  overcome  every  obstacle  himself,  and 
passed  through  an  educational  course  of  the  most  perfect 
kind — self-taught,  not  "helped." 

The  result  of  this  survey  of  man's  long  struggle  with  the 
forces  of  Nature,  so  often  apparently  hostile,  but  which  he  has 
so  completely  dominated  and  rendered  subservient  to  his  will 
and  conducive  to  his  well-being,  has,  I  beheve,  estabHshed  a 
fact  which  affords  a  complete  and  decisive  proof  of  the  beneficent 
tendency  exercised  by  the  Source  of  the  Infinite  and  Eternal 
Energy. 

Nevertheless,  doubt  as  to  the  existence  of  that  beneficence 
has  arisen  in  some  minds  from  the  fact  that  life  mostly  entails 
the  endurance  of  so  much  pain  and  misery  as  to  invalidate  the 
grounds  for  that  belief.  I  reply  that  hfe  is  universally  regarded 
as  a  precious  possession,  and  is  enjoyed — in  different  degrees — 
by  every  individual  in  the  entire  animal  creation;  not  one  will 
part  with  its  share  without  a  struggle,  if  it  has  the  power  to  de- 
fend itself.  The  universal  sentiment  of  Humanity  is — "Skin 
for  (upon)  skin,  yea,  all  that  a  man  hath  will  he  give  for  his  life." 

VIII 

I  shall  next  present,  in  a  tabular  form,  the  following  state- 
ments derived  from  that  knowledge  of  natural  history  which  is 
common  to  all,  reciting  the  chief  sources  of  pleasure  or  happiness 
possessed  by  the  animal  creation. 
XXXIX  [  20  ] 


THE  HOPE 


Enjoyment  of  Food  through  the  senses 
of  taste  and  smell. 

Acquirement  of  Power  by  growth,  and  the 
enlarged  experience  which  it  brings. 

The  relations  of  love  between  the  sexes. 

Social  relations  with  others — Friendship. 

Appreciation  of  beauty — through  the 
eye,  of  color,  form — as  presented  in 
Man  and  especially  in  Woman.  The 
charm  of  landscape,  the  cultivation  of 
flowers  (scents)  and  fruit;  the  garden. 
Impressions  derived  from  grand  sce- 
nery in  all  parts  of  the  world — the 
pleasure  of  travel  by  land  and  sea. 

Delight  from  Musical  Art,  through  the  ear. 

The  pleasure  of  Possession, 

The  Practice  of  Art  in  all  its  branches. 

The  Pursuit  of  Knowledge;  acquisition  of 
new  facts — discovery  in  every  depart- 
ment of  life, 
lo.  The  pleasure  derived  from  the  exercise  of 
Charity,  from  moral  conduct,  and  in 
the  exercise  of  the  religious  sentiment 
natural  to  Man,  and  already  observed 
throughout  all  his  history;  becoming 
gradually  developed  and  modified  as 
he  increases  in  his  acquaintance  with 
Nature,  in  the  widest  sense  of  the 
term,  and  in  his  power  of  reasoning 
from  the  facts  thus  acquired. 


Enjoyed  by  the  en- 
tire animal  series, 
from  the  lowest 
conscious  forms  to 
the  highest. 


Chiefly  exemplified 
in  Man,  but  em- 
bracing in  a  less 
degree  some  lower 
animals. 


y  To  Man  only. 


By  the  long  process  of  Man's  evolution,  ethical  rules  have 
been  evolved.  Men  have  learned  that  it  was  not  only  wise,  but 
productive  of  satisfaction  and  often  of  pleasure,  "To  do  unto 
others  as  you  would  they  should  do  unto  you  " ;  that  honesty  was 
not  only  the  best  poHcy,  but  desirable  for  the  reason  just  given. 
Thus  it  is  that  the  "golden  rule"  has  been  enunciated  in  almost 
identical  terms  by  the  sages  of  other  civilizations,  even  before 
the  time  of  Christ.  A  code  of  morals  has  resulted  by  degrees  as 
man  himself  has  progressed,  and  is  not  the  product  of  any  super- 
natural revelation;  a  code  which  not  only  sets  forth  man's 
duties,  but  necessarily  implies  the  existence  of  punitive  conse- 
quences on  any  neglect  of  its  articles.     For  due  consideration 

XXXIX  [  21  ] 


THE   HOPE 

will  render  clear  the  fact  that  every  breach  of  Nature's  laws, 
whether  physical  or  moral,  certainly  brings  with  it  punishment 
in  this  life,  sooner  or  later.  For  example,  the  man  who  merely 
consumes  improper  food  or  drink,  or  takes  more  than  he  can 
digest,  pays  the  penalty  which  the  error  entails.  Again,  if 
he  exerts  his  strength  far  beyond  his  powers,  as  in  athletic  con- 
tests, etc.,  he  runs  great  risk  of  injuring  his  heart  and  of  damag- 
ing his  constitution  as  the  result;  one  indeed  too  often  met  with. 
If  he  wastes  his  health  and  strength  in  debauchery,  his  punish- 
ment often  speedily  arrives,  involving  disease  and  shortened 
life,  that  possession  which  every  sane  man  prizes  above  all 
other.  So  with  every  breach  of  moral  law;  any  unjust  act 
committed  equally  involves  its  penalty  in  this  Hfe.  It  brings 
long  and  bitter  remorse  in  generous  natures;  in  others,  it  surely 
tends  to  debase  the  individual;  he  becomes  habituated  to  dis- 
honorable designs  and  acts,  and  sinks  lower  in  the  scale  of 
morality,  until  he  loses  self-respect,  that  of  others,  and  at  last 
is  trusted  by  none.  No  doubt  an  unprincipled  man  may  have 
a  successful  career,  but  his  punishment  surely  arrives  after  a 
time.  On  the  other  hand,  in  every  department  of  life  unblem- 
ished character  is  the  highest  attainment ;  whatever  of  talent  or 
of  genius  a  man  may  display,  he  who  has  been  proved  by  a  past 
career  to  be  a  possessor  of  that,  is  the  most  valued  and  esteemed 
in  any  rank  or  condition  of  life,  and  is  the  most  certain  to  se- 
cure success  in  the  long  run. 

To  the  foregoing  let  me  add  a  quotation  here,  and  ask  at- 
tention to  it,  in  which  these  sentiments  are  tersely  and  beauti- 
fully expressed  by  an  ancient  Hebrew  poet,  whose  religious 
creed,  let  it  he  remembered^  ignored  any  scheme  of  rewards  and 
punishments  in  a  future  life,  Psalm  xxxvii.,  vv.  35-37:  ^'I 
have  seen  the  wicked  in  great  power,  and  spreading  himself 
like  a  green  bay  tree.  Yet  he  passed  away,  and,  lo,  he  was  not : 
yea,  I  sought  him,  but  he  could  not  be  found.  Mark  the 
perfect  man,  and  behold  the  upright ;  for  the  end  of  that  man  is 
peace." 

I  shall  conclude  this  section  by  simply  observing  that  the 
religion  of  Nature,  the  laws  of  which  and  their  working  have 
thus  been  briefly  illustrated,  and  which  is  based  upon  the  de- 
XXXIX  [  22  ] 


THE   HOPE 

termination  not  to  believe  anything  which  is  not  supported  by 
indubitable  evidence,  must  eventually  become  the  faith  of  the 
future :  its  reception  is  a  question  for  each  man's  personal  con- 
victions. It  is  one  in  which  a  priestly  hierarchy  has  no  place, 
nor  are  there  any  specified  formularies  of  worship.  For,  "Re- 
ligion ought  to  mean  simply  reverence  and  love  for  the  Ethical 
ideal,  and  the  desire  to  reahze  that  ideal  in  life"  (Huxley).^ 


IX 

The  facts  of  suffering  and  death  which  affect  mankind— 
the  former  mostly,  the  latter  universally— have  been  urged  by 
many  as  incompatible  with  the  attribution  of  goodness  and 
benevolence  to  the  Author  of  the  Universe. 

I  shall  first  consider  the  last-named  inevitable  event,  which 
each  one  of  us  must  encounter.  And  I  shall  venture  to  state, 
as  the  known  result  of  long  and  careful  observation  of  the 
phenomena  which  then  occur,  that  a  really  painful  death  from 
disease  is  never  witnessed.  Whatever  of  suffering  may  have 
previously  occurred,  which  I  shall  deal  with  after  this,  the  act 
of  death  is  believed  to  be  always  preceded  by  a  considerable 
period  of  insensibility.  There  may  often  be  obvious  automatic 
movements,  not  felt  by  the  subject  of  them,  but  naturally  dis- 
tressing to  bystanders,  because  resembling  those  of  pain. 

Acute  and  sometimes  long-continued  sufferings  precede 
death,  it  may  be  for  periods  of  considerable  duration,  sometimes 
for  years.  But  thanks  to  man's  scientific  researches,  especially 
to  one  of  the  most  recent,  the  inhalation  of  anaesthetic  vapors, 
all  acute  sufferings  can  be  completely  avoided.  What  untold 
and  agonizing  tortures  would  have  been  spared  throughout  his 
long  history  had  this  precious  secret  been  revealed!  How 
evident  it  is  that  ''Revelation''  was  no  part  of  the  plan.     In  the 

^Huxley's  Collected  Works,  vol.  v.,  p.  249.  Vide  also  the  follow- 
ing extract  bearing  on  this  subject:  "There  is  a  striking  expression 
of  Diderot's  that  all  Revealed  or  National  religions  are  only  per- 
versions of  the  Religion  of  Nature;  and  it  is  true,  if  the  words  Religion 
of  Nature  be  taken  in  the  highest  sense."— Extracts  from  a  letter  by 
Jowett  to  Professor  Caird,  Life  of  Jowctt,  vol.  i.,  p.  445- 

XXXIX  [  23  ] 


THE  HOPE 

course  of  most  chronic  diseases  it  is  well  known  that  some  form 
of  anodyne,  of  which  several  notable  examples  exist,  can  almost 
always  be  utilized  so  as  to  avoid  severe  suffering.  No  man 
should  be  a  martyr  to  pain  who  can  obtain  a  tolerably  skilful 
medical  attendant;  and  such  are  provided  in  all  the  public  in- 
stitutions for  the  care  of  the  poor,  or  at  the  hospitals  which 
abound  in  London,  and  exist  in  almost  every  small  country 
town. 

The  sufferings  of  the  lower  animals  are  very  far  less  than 
those  of  man.  The  sense  of  pain  corresponds  with  the  extent  or 
the  development  of  the  nervous  system;  and  this  is  extremely 
small  among  countless  species  of  active  living  beings,  e.g.,  the 
insects — flying,  creeping,  or  jumping — and  furnishing  a  popula- 
tion far  exceeding  the  sum  total  of  the  human  inhabitants  of  the 
globe  on  any  five  acres  of  cultivated  land,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  waters  which  wash  our  sea- coasts.  Among 
insects  may  perhaps  be  partially  excepted  those  which  form 
social  communities,  as  the  ants,  bees,  wasps,  etc.,  who  have 
highly  developed  instincts,  and  concerning  whose  possession  of 
some  degree  of  consciousness  it  is  impossible  to  speak  with 
certainty.  Shakespeare  greatly  erred  when  he  said  that  the 
poor  beetle  we  tread  upon  feels  a  pang  as  great  as  when  a  giant 
dies.  Like  ancient  authors  of  all  time,  he  could,  when  deal- 
ing with  natural  history,  only  reflect  the  knowledge  of  his  age. 
His  insight  into  human  character,  and  his  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart,  have  never  perhaps  been  surpassed  by  any,  and 
his  mastery  in  expressing  thought  has  made  him  a  poet  for  all 
time.  Similar  qualities  existing,  more  or  less,  among  some 
of  the  poets  and  prophets  of  the  Hebrew  race  give  their  pro- 
ductions a  high  value  in  no  way  lessened  by  the  fact  that  they 
were  ignorant,  when  writing,  of  the  earth  and  its  origin,  and  of 
its  relation  to  the  rest  of  the  universe. 

It  is  impossible  to  state  with  certainty  what  amount  of 
consciousness  is  present  throughout  the  numerous  species  of 
animals  which  rank  below  the  vertebrate  series,  but  there  is 
certainly  ground  for  believing  that  they  are  incapable  of  suffer- 
ing much  pain,  and  that  even  the  fierce  carnivora  inflict  lit- 
tle or  none  in  the  act  of  killing  their  prey,  although  belonging 
XXXIX  [  24  ] 


THE  HOPE 

to  the  same  order.  For  all  are  led  by  what  is  called  instinct — 
probably  inherited  habit — to  seize  their  victim  at  a  vital  spot, 
as  by  the  neck,  at  the  top  of  the  spinal  cord,  which  mostly  de- 
stroys the  power  of  movement  and  of  sensation,  of  course  in 
order  to  prevent  struggles  or  acts  of  retaliation  when  possible. 

Some  of  the  higher  vertebrata,  especially  those  who  have 
long  held  intimate  associations  with  man,  have  had  their  in- 
telligence and  emotional  powers  much  developed;  for  two 
obvious  examples  take  the  dog  and  the  horse.  Such  are  sus- 
ceptible to  pain  and  suffer  much,  and  when  inflicted,  either  by 
accident  or  design,  should  invariably  be  relieved,  when  possible, 
by  the  same  anaesthetics  employed  for  man. 

There  is  another  consideration  supporting  the  view  here 
taken  of  the  beneficent  tendency  of  the  great  but  unknown 
Source  of  Infinite  Energy,  not  to  be  overlooked.  Granting  this 
view  to  be  correct,  it  is  impossible  not  to  believe  that  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Supreme  Source  must  not  merely  equal,  but  greatly 
transcend  any  like  or  analogous  quality — such  as  care,  com- 
passion, or  kindness — which  man  can  and  does  very  largely 
exercise  toward  his  fellows  or  dependents,  all  like  himself 
having  derived  their  being  and  its  inherent  qualities  from  that 
same  Energy  which  pervades  the  universe. 


Finally  the  cultivated  and  truly  religious  man  finds  his 
greatest  happiness  in  the  active  and  healthy  exercise  of  all  his 
functions — moral,  intellectual,  and  physical.  He  is  careful  to 
promote  the  welfare  of  his  fellow-creatures,  not  merely  by  works 
of  charity  but  by  enabling  them  to  help  themselves,  and  ex- 
ercises his  judgment  to  that  end.  Whatever  he  does  it  is  his 
aim  to  attain  the  best  result  possible,  and  thus  to  make  the  most 
of  the  priceless  boon  of  life.  His  religious  feelings  do  not  sug- 
gest to  him  the  validity  of  the  Christian  practice  of  prayer 
to  a  Deity  for  gifts  of  any  kind,  even  for  the  purpose  of  obtain- 
ing moral  or  mental  improvement,  nor  for  the  recovery  of  the 
sick  or  protection  from  personal  dangers,  etc. — a  practice 
which  is  so  common — well  knowing  that  all  events  must  follow 
XXXIX  [  25  ] 


THE   HOPE 

the  laws  of  nature,  which  are  unalterable.  •  No  doubt  the  act  of 
prayer,  on  the  part  of  one  who  believes  in  its  power  to  move  the 
Deity  to  bestow  a  precious  boon,  brings  consolation  to  the  feel- 
ings of  the  applicant.  It  is  a  spiritual  sedative  which  affords 
indescribable  relief  and  enjoyment  to  many.  Nevertheless, 
"Thy  will,  not  mine  be  done,"  is  the  only  prayer  of  the  truly 
sensible  Christian,  and  he  may  be  grateful  indeed  that  no  other 
prayer  can  be  acceptable.  What  a  chaos  would  the  world 
present  if  short-sighted  men  could  interfere  with  the  working 
of  the  laws  which  determine  the  course  of  events!  For  the 
religious  man  here  described,  adoration  of  the  grandeur  and 
of  the  beneficence  which  pervade  the  universe  is  the  only  senti- 
ment suitable  for  public  or  for  private  religious  service.  "Lord, 
how  manifold  are  thy  works,  in  wisdom  hast  thou  made  them 
all"  (Ps.  civ.,  V.  24),  expresses  the  same  sentiment  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Hebrew  poet,  in  terms  suitable  to  his  day. 

To  conclude,  he  is  grateful,  yet  proud  to  feel  himself  a  par- 
ticipant in  the  great  and  endless  procession  of  the  wise  and 
good  throughout  the  ages;  trustful,  without  shadow  of  a  doubt 
respecting  any  kind  of  future  there  may  be  in  store,  and  con- 
cerning which  it  is  needless  for  him  to  inquire  or  speculate. 
He  "lives  a  life  of  Faith"  in  the  Source  of  the  Infinite  and 
Eternal  Energy,  confident  in  the  knowledge  that  the  laws  of  the 
Universe  are  the  outcome  of  perfect  Wisdom  and  Beneficence. 
The  old  Faiths,  founded  on  so-called  "revelation,  "have  long  been 
tested  and  are  found  wanting,  and  a  natural  religion  will  ulti- 
mately replace  them.  It  is  no  part  of  this  inquiry  to  dilate  on 
what  this  comprehends.  It  is  sufficiently  defined  in  few  and 
simple  words  at  page  23  and  note. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  a  large  proportion  of  the 
population  in  all  Christian  countries  is  ignorant  of,  or  indifferent 
to,  the  subject  of  religious  belief,  unless  the  formal  compliance 
with  a  certain  slight  ceremonial  is  considered  to  be  religious 
worship.  Concerning  these  it  is  not  necessary  to  speak.  On 
the  other  hand  I  have  no  desire  to  disturb  the  behefs  of  those 
who  derive  comfort  from  the  hope  of  a  happy  future  in  another 
world,  and  a  motive  for  well-doing  in  this,  which  they  derive 
from  the  Christian  faith.  It  is  especially  undesirable  to  do  so 
XXXIX  [  26  ] 


THE   HOPE 

in  relation  to  the  poor  and  uneducated,  whose  lot  is  mitigated 
thereby,  and  also  to  those  who,  possessing  an  ordinary  share 
of  intelligence,  have  confidently  and  happily  rested  on  its  hopes 
and  promises  for  many  past  years. 

I  now  close  this  essay,  the  materials  for  which  in  the  shape 
of  sundry  notes  I  began  to  collect  upward  of  'twenty  years  ago. 
Others  were  frequently  added,  as  I  pondered  much  and  often 
over  what  has  long  been  a  favorite  theme,  and  it  was  not  until 
a  few  years  later  that  I  copied  into  my  note-book,  on  its  first 
appearance  in  1884,  that  striking  passage  from  Herbert  Spencer 
which  is  now  quoted  as  a  motto  on  the  title-page.  This  indeed 
suggested  the  subject,  respecting  which,  as  it  appeared  to  me, 
systematic  research  might  be  not  only  practicable,  but  might 
also  be  expected  to  yield  some  definite  results. 

I  commenced  my  task  solely  for  the  purpose  of  seeking  the 
truth  for  my  own  personal  needs  and  enlightenment,  incited 
thereto  by  the  numerous  and  conflicting  claims  of  the  various 
sects,  some  diametrically  opposed  to  each  other,  into  which  what 
is  termed  '' Christianity"  is  divided.  The  original  paper  was 
written  without  any  intention  that  it  should  be  seen  by  any  other 
eye  than  my  own;  nor  has  it  been  so  seen  until,  having  been  con- 
siderably amplified,  I  submitted  it  to  the  judgment  of  a  friend 
during  the  past  year.  For  myself  it  has  been  a  veritable  "Pil- 
grim's Progress."  The  title,  together  with  the  form  of  the 
essay  as  it  now  stands,  has  been  the  result  of  the  whole  in- 
quiry, and  was  not  a  predetermined  intention. 

I  am  now  approaching  the  end,  and  find  myself  compelled 
to  arrive  at  a  conclusion,  contrary,  I  gladly  confess,  to  that 
which  I  at  first  entertained  when  engaged  with  the  former  part 
of  the  inquiry,  and  depressed  by  mentally  reahzing  the  miseries 
and  hardships  to  which  Man  was  exposed  during  the  tardy  de- 
velopment for  unknown  ages  of  what  may  be  deemed  the  infancy 
and  childhood  of  the  race :  a  career  which  will  probably  continue 
many  ages  more  before  he  approaches  maturity. 

But  when  that  long  inquiry  came  to  an  end,  and  not  until 
then,  the  Truth— as  I  profoundly  believe  it  to  be— almost 
suddenly  impressed  me:  to  wit,  that  interference  of  a  super- 
natural kind  with  man's  doings  (supposing  its  exercise  to  be  pos- 
XXXIX  [  27  ] 


THE  HOPE 

sible  within  the  limits  of  the  great  scheme  of  Nature)  would  have 
marred,  if  it  did  not  arrest,  the  course  of  that  development 
which  has  issued  in  the  remarkable  progress  he  has  made,  es- 
pecially during  the  last  three  centuries. 

I  was  now  assured,  by  evidence  which  I  could  not  resist,  that 
all  which  man — with  his  limited  knowledge  and  experience — 
has  learned  to  regard  as  due  to  Supreme  ''Power"  and  "Wis- 
dom," although  immeasurably  beyond  his  comprehension,  is 
also  associated  with  the  exercise  of  an  "Absolutely  Benefi- 
cent" influence  over  all  living  things,  of  every  grade,  which 
exist  within  its  range. 

And  the  result  of  my  labor  has  at  least  brought  me  its  own 
reward,  by  conferring  emancipation  from  the  fetters  of  all  the 
creeds,  and  unshakable  confidence  in  the  Power,  the  Wisdom, 
and  the  Beneficence  which  pervade  and  rule  the  Universe. 

Finally,  let  me  add  that  no  one  can  feel  more  forcibly  than 
myself  that  the  foregoing  pages  offer  only  a  very  slight  sketch 
of  a  most  extensive  and  important  subject.  It  is  but  a  syllabus 
thereof,  and  in  this  sense  I  venture  to  offer  it  to  the  consideration 
of  my  readers.  Moreover,  I  desire  to  state  my  belief  that  the 
subject  of  this  paper,  "The  Unknown  God"?  may  be  regarded 
as  in  progress  of  solution  by  following  the  process  suggested, 
and  that  "the  Infinite  and  Eternal  Energy  from  which  all  things 
proceed"  will  not  ever  remain  wholly  unknown  or  "unknow- 
able," but  may  be  still  further  elucidated  as  human  faculties  be- 
come highly  developed  in  the  progress  of  time,  and  rendered 
capable  of  receiving  additional  enlightenment  respecting  it. 


XXXIX  [  28  ] 


XL 


OUR  GOAL 


"THE  MAKING   OF  A  NATIONAL  SPIRIT" 

BY 

EDWIN  A.  ALDERMAN 

PRESIDENT   OF   THE    UNIVERSITY    OF  VIRGINIA 

AND 

"EDUCATION  AND   DEMOCRACY" 

BY 

GEORGE  HARRIS 

PRESIDENT   OP    AMHERST    COLLEGE 


TJ/'HAT  then  is  the  meaning,  what  the  purpose,  we  have 
discovered  in  modern  life?  We  have  sought  to  glance 
over  the  whole  broad  field  of  human  thought  and  human  endeavor, 
to  summon  at  each  turning  of  the  road  the  voice  of  some  master 
spirit  to  direct  and  inform  our  feebler  knowledge.  One  would 
fain  sum  up  the  final  result  in  a  few  simple  words  such  as  a 
child  might  understand.  But,  alas,  no  such  simple  answer  to 
the  problem  has  as  yet  become  clear  to  all  men.  Here  and  there 
we  find  the  enthusiast  who  believes  he  has  solved  all  difficulties 
with  a  single  potent  word;  but  to  most  of  us  the  meaning  of 
life  seems  manifold,  and  its  purpose,  if  that  may  indeed  be 
expressed  by  a  single  term,  must  find  expression  in  organ  tones 
as  yet  too  vast  for  human  tongue. 

Some  effort,  however,  we  can  make  toward  understanding. 
Some  effort  we  offer  here  in  two  remarkable  speeches,  delivered 
on  notable  occasions  by  two  of  our  leading  college  presidents. 
At  the  last  annual  meeting  of  the  New  York  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce, its  one  hundred  and  thirty- seventh  anniversary  dinner,  the 
speech  of  the  evening  by  President  Alderman,  D.C.L.,  LL.D., 
of  the  University  of  Virginia,  was  upon  the  future  of  our  Ameri- 
can race,  "  the  making  of  a  national  spirit. ^^  By  Dr.  Alderman^ s 
permission  we  print  it  here  entire,  except  for  one  section  in  which 
XL  [  I  ] 


OUR    GOAL 

he  turns  aside  to  rejer  to  his  beloved  South.  The  address  must 
be  read  oj  course  m  the  mood  in  which  it  was  delivered  to  the 
eminent  business  leaders  who  sat  listening;  yet  it  manages  to 
tell,  with  no  uncertain  note,  high  truths  both  brave  and  proud  as 
to  the  progress  and  the  spirit  oj  our  nation. 

We  present  also  the  address  made  by  President  Harris,  LL.D., 
oj  Amherst,  on  the  occasion  oj  his  inauguration  as  head  oj  his 
college.  Some  portions  oj  this  noteworthy  speech  were,  oj 
necessity,  personal  to  the  occasion;  these  we  have,  with  Dr. 
Harrises  consent,  omitted.  The  main  address  was,  however, 
general,  an  analysis  oj  lije  and  its  needs  to-day.  Conjronting 
the  reader  with  this  thoughtjul,  comprehensive  view,  we  shall 
leave  him  to  answer  jor  himselj,  in  accord  with  his  own  hopes, 
his  wisdom,  and  his  jortunes,  "the  meaning  oj  modern  lijeJ^ 

I  APPRECIATE,  as  a  teacher,  the  privilege  of  speaking  to  this 
ancient  and  powerful  Chamber  of  Commerce  of  the  State  of 
New  York  at  a  moment  when  I  do  think  it  not  assembled 
to  discuss  commerce  alone,  or  to  scan  the  balance  of  trade, 
but  to  discern  the  movement  of  the  national  spirit  and  to  con- 
tribute to  the  health  and  strength  of  the  national  conscious- 
ness and  character. 

The  speakers  of  the  olden  days  proudly  called  you  mer- 
chants, as  they  called  my  tribe  schoolmasters  and  teachers. 
Now  they  call  us — and  a  palatable  brand  of  cracker — edu- 
cators, and  they  call  you  names — largely — plutocrats  and 
magnates,  oligarchs,  and  other  jagged-looking  epithets.  Other 
points  of  likeness  between  the  schoolmaster  and  the  merchant 
encourage  me  in  the  effort  to  make  this  speech,  which  I  do 
not  mean  to  be  hortatory,  for  I  agree  with  Charles  Lamb  that 
it  is  difficult  to  feel  quite  at  ease  with  a  schoolmaster,  because 
he  comes,  like  Gulliver,  from  among  his  young  folks,  and 
cannot  easily  adjust  the  stature  of  his  understanding. 

What  we  call  business  and  stupidly  think  of  as  a  coarse 
material  machine  is  really  the  great  cosmic  university,  to 
which  nine-tenths  of  human  beings  go  to  learn  truth-speaking 
— though  they  do  not  always  learn  it — and  faith  in  men,  and 
so  prove  themselves  by  suffering  and  service.  What  we  call 
XL  [2] 


OUR    GOAL 

trade  is  a  great  university-extension  scheme  for  civilizing  and 
keeping  the  peace  among  nations.  The  teacher  inculcates 
ideals,  and  the  merchant  incarnates  them  for  good  or  ill  to 
this  generation.  An  unfaithful  merchant  indicates  social  dis- 
ease as  surely  as  and  more  vividly  than  an  immoral  school- 
master, for  the  master  rules  of  both  are  fidelity,  truth,  and 
honor.  The  rewards  and  the  power  of  both  are  great.  The 
merchant's  reward,  if  he  be  of  intelligent  mind,  rich  in  social 
sympathy,  far-seeing  in  conception,  is  above  the  valor  of  the 
soldier  or  the  opportunity  of  the  statesman  in  this  modern 
world.  The  schoolmaster's  reward  sometimes  comes  too  late 
to  sweeten  the  toil  of  his  day,  and  is  of  a  kind  not  greatly 
molested  by  thieves  or  rust,  or  even  the  most  absent-minded 
of  moths.  But  it  has  some  infinite  satisfactions,  and  its  power 
is  simply  symbolized  by  some  cultivated,  clean,  and  fearless 
youth  ready  for  life  and  fit  to  illustrate  the  majesty  of  repub- 
lican citizenship. 

I,  therefore,  do  not  think  of  you  this  evening  as  great  mag- 
nates, or  as  the  "beaked  and  taloned  graspers  of  the  world," 
as  some  one  has  gently  called  you,  but  as  my  fellow- crafts- 
men, as  plain,  extraordinary  men,  whose  proudest  fortune  is 
the  legacy  of  American  opportunity  and  citizenship,  and  whose 
proudest  achievement  will  be  to  hand  down  that  inheritance 
untarnished  and  undiminished. 

It  is  fairly  difficult  these  days  to  make  a  speech  without 
mentioning  Wall  Street.  I  will  begin  pleasantly  by  saying 
that  Wall  Street  is  bracketed  with  Gehenna  as  a  sort  of  sym- 
bol of  sin  in  the  minds  of  many  good  people.  That  is  prob- 
ably going  too  far.  The  reflection  that  its  giant  activities  are 
grounded  on  faith  and  integrity  and  credit  gives  even  to  it  and 
its  fellow-sinners,  Lombard  and  State  Streets,  a  certain  aspect 
of  goodness,  and,  considering  all  things,  increases  my  pride 
in  the  essential  dignity  of  the  race.  Sometimes  I  go  down 
there,  impelled  by  that  wonder  which  Plato  called  the  beginning 
of  knowledge.  I  seldom  stay  long,  for  the  atmosphere  leaves 
something  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  academic  peace,  and 
enables  a  mere  human  to  understand  the  psychology  of  the 
lamb.  But  I  do  not  come  away  ever  without  stopping  for  a 
XL  [3] 


OUR    GOAL 

look  at  the  finest  thing  down  there — the  regnant  figure  of  an 
old  Virginia  country  gentleman,  who  was  the  richest  man  and 
the  most  public-spirited  citizen  of  a  simple  age,  standing  upon 
the  steps  of  the  Sub-Treasury  Building,  looking  out  with 
honest,  fearless  eyes  over  that  sea  of  hurrying  men.  That 
statue  is  the  most  remarkable  allegory  that  ever  got  placed, 
by  historic  chance,  at  just  the  right  spot  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  points  forward  surely  to  the  higher  social  order, 
when  the  Place  Vendomes  and  Trafalgar  Squares  of  the  world 
will  celebrate  the  glory  of  the  great  citizen.  My  speech  is 
not  going  to  wander  far  from  that  statue. 

The  conviction  in  the  heart  of  George  Washington  that 
enabled  him  to  be  the  richest  man  and  the  most  public-spirited 
citizen  of  his  time,  this  same  conviction  in  the  hearts  of  men  in 
this  Chamber,  and  everywhere  in  this  nation,  that  enables 
them  to  be  something  of  both,  is  the  conviction  with  enough 
strength  in  it,  if  it  be  a  conviction  and  not  a  spasmodic  emo- 
tion, to  carry  this  democratic  experiment  past  a  very  serious 
peril.  It  is,  therefore,  pertinent  to  know  what  the  conviction 
is,  and  to  ask  further  if  it  can  be  reinf used  in  manly  fashion  into 
our  republican  life.  Briefly  put,  it  was  the  belief  that  a  re- 
public is  the  final  form  of  human  society,  and  the  common 
individual  man  the  sublimest  asset  of  the  world,  that  power 
rests  on  fitness  to  rule,  that  the  sole  object  of  power  is  the 
pubHc  good,  and  that  service  to  the  republic  is  a  glory  quite 
sufficient  in  itself. 

To  Washington  these  ideas  had  a  religious  sanction,  for 
they  were  in  the  air  of  an  age  of  moral  imagination  and  superb 
human  enthusiasm  which  counted  the  dual  standard  for  private 
and  for  public  life  as  the  essence  of  republican  treason.  These 
ideas  had  the  force  of  religious  sanction,  too,  to  Jay  and  Hamil- 
ton and  CHnton,  whose  figures  adorn  your  building  down 
town,  and  one  cannot  look  into  St.  Gaudens's  face  of  Lincoln 
in  Chicago,  with  its  commonness  and  plainness,  and  yet 
with  its  sublimity  and  gentleness,  without  seeing  those  ideas 
shining  there,  revealing  the  real  glory  of  that  great  common 
man,  and  teaching  through  that  melancholy  workl-face  the 
whole  splendid  rise  of  man  to  soul  and  mind  and  will.  That 
XL  [4] 


OUR    GOAL 

noble  and  pathetic  scene  at  Newburg,  when  Washington  put 
aside  all  ambition,  was  not  hard  for  him,  and  he  probably 
did  not  reaHze  what  a  type  of  self-effacement  Newburg  would 
become  because  of  it.  A  century  of  trial  has  somewhat  dulled 
the  halo  about  democracy  to  fools  and  those  of  little  faith,  though 
the  great  optimism  has  abated  sectarian  fury,  abolished  legal 
slavery,  protected  and  enlarged  manhood  suffrage,  mitigated 
much  social  injustice,  increased  kindness  and  gentleness, 
preserved  the  form  of  the  Union,  conquered  its  wildernesses, 
developed  great  agencies  of  culture,  and  made  it  a  symbol 
of  prosperity. 

But  it  has  also  developed  new  and  hateful  masters  in  politics 
and  new  shapes  of  temptation  and  wrong-doing,  and  after  a 
generation  of  amazing  constructive  effort,  without  sufficient 
leisure  for  ethical  considerations,  it  is  in  danger  of  its  own 
strength,   and   it  must   protect   itself   with  its   own  strength. 
I  am  not  railing  against  great  constructive  forces,  or  uttering 
cheap  prophecies  of  damnation,  or  doubting  that  the  future 
will  be  an  industrial  world,  which  means  a  republican  world. 
I  am  simply  claiming  that  democracy,  like  a  man's  character, 
is  never  out  of  danger.     It  is  not  selfishness  or  corruption 
alone  which  we  have  to  fear,  for  we  have  vanquished  these 
before,  but  as  much  the  temper  of  despair  and  faithlessness 
which  blinds  the  eyes  of  the  youth  to  the  heroic  simplicity 
and  love  of  freedom  at  the  heart  of  the  American  people. 
And  my  concern  is  for  youth,  for  the  grown  folks  are  generally 
past   saving.     The   chief   weapon   of   the   protective   strength 
of  democracy  I  conceive  to  be  the  acceptance  of  the  Wash- 
ington type  of  public  spirit  as  a  working  form  of  patriotism 
upon  as  large  a  scale  in  the  social  and  political  order  as  the 
instinct  for  co-operation  and  combination  has   been  accepted 
in  the  industrial  world.     By  the  measure  in  which  United 
States  Steel  surpasses  the  blacksmith's  shop  in  efficiency,  by 
the  measure  in  which  municipal  government  surpasses  the 
rural   township    in   complexity   of   politics— in   that   measure 
must  both  politics  and  business  cease  to  be  regarded  as  a  game 
or  as  war,  or  as  a  fixed  code,  or  as  a  treasure-trove,  and  come 
XL  [5] 


OUR    GOAL 

to  be  thought  of  as  a  public  function,  as  a  public  trust,  not 
only  in  method  and  organization,  but  in  moral  responsibility. 
Does  this  involve  a  moral  miracle,  or  an  utter  change  in  human 
nature,  or  a  surrender  of  democracy  to  state  socialism  or  some 
other  order?  It  certainly  involves  the  reaffirmation  of  the 
founder's  idea  of  public  spirit  as  a  dominant  national  motive 
and  as  a  sort  of  inner  well-spring  of  conduct,  in  place  of  the 
idea  of  headlong  strength  and  achievement  and  speed,  follow- 
ing, as  a  sort  of  spiritual  corrective,  the  gigantic  system  of 
modern  business,  and  the  new  brood  of  political  conditions 
with  which  neither  statute  law  nor  public  morals  have  been 
able  to  keep  pace.  In  short,  .as  an  industrial  democracy  has 
carried  to  high  efficiency  a  new  philosophy  of  business  and 
politics,  so  it  must  reaffirm  and  reincarnate  its  old  philosophy 
of  citizenship  and  patriotism. 

Patriotism,  therefore,  which  is  hard  to  define  and  new 
with  every  age,  must  redefine  itself.  It  meant  manhood  rights 
when  Washington  took  it  to  his  heart,  as  it  means  to  the  Rus- 
sian to-day.  It  meant  culture  and  refinement  and  mental 
distinction  when  Emerson,  in  his  Phi  Beta  Kappa  address, 
"besought  the  sluggish  intellect  of  his  country  to  look  up  from 
under  its  iron  Hds."  It  signified  ideals  and  theories  of  govern- 
ment to  the  soldiers  of  Grant  and  Lee.  It  meant  industrial 
greatness  and  splendid  desires  to  annex  nature  to  man's  uses 
when  the  great  leaders  of  the  generation,  whose  statesman- 
ship and  imagination  no  man  will  deny,  built  up  their  busi- 
ness and  tied  the  Union  together  in  a  unity  of  steel  and  steam. 

To-day  it  means  a  vast  reaction  from  an  unsocial  and 
predatory  individualism  to  self-restraint  and  consideration  for 
the  general  welfare,  expressing  itself  in  a  cry  for  fairness  and 
honor  and  sympathy  in  use  of  power  and  wealth,  as  the  states 
of  spirit  and  mind  that  alone  can  safeguard  republican  ideals. 

If  in  our  youth  and  breathlessness  there  has  grown  up  a 
spreading  insanity  of  desire  for  quick  wealth  and  a  theory  of 
life  in  lesser  minds  that  esteems  money  as  everything,  and 
therefore  is  willing  to  do  everything  for  money,  that  very  fact 
has  served  to  define  the  patriotic  duty  and  mood  of  the  pubhc 
XL  [6] 


OUR  GOAL 

mind.     And  is  not  the  theory  of  our  overlooking  special  Provi- 
dence borne  out  in  the  fact  that,  as  in  the  period  seeking  to 
establish  manhood  rights   there   stood  forth  at   the    head  of 
the  government  the  figure  of  Washington,  a  repubhcan  saint 
around  whom  a  young  nation  should  rally,  so  now  in  a  period 
pausing  to  search  its  heart,  after  a  certain  madness  of  spirit, 
there  stands  forth  the  figure  of  a  bold  prophet  of  common 
righteousness    and    common    service    and    common    decency 
strong  enough  to  be  everywhere,  and  sincere  enough  and  un- 
conscious enough  to  preach  his  doctrine  in  a  thousand  voices? 
This  reawakened  patriotism  of  the  common  good  has  the  ad- 
vantage of  appeal  to  a  young  public  conscience  not  yet  un- 
balanced by  hysteria,  and  of  being  supported  by  a  valid  and 
unauthoritative   pubhc   opinion,   not   yet   dulled   by   content- 
ment.    Sound  pubhc  conscience  and  valid  public  opinion  are 
the  last  unbreached  strongholds  of  our  old  democracy.     In 
proof  of  their  soundness  and  authority  I  claim  that  if  there 
be  a  man  in  America  to-day  who  has  an  unjust  fortune,  and  a 
pagan  ideal  of  its  use,  he  will  not  bask  as  cosily  in  the  respect 
'  of  his  fellows,  nor  have  as  much  fun,  as  Croesus  or  Louis  XIV. 
The  gift  of  one  hundred  and  seven  millions  of  dollars  in  one 
year  by  private  individuals  to  the  general  welfare,  a  colossal 
development  of  the  sense  of  social  obligation  barely  dreamed 
of  by  Washington,  is  the  testimony  on  the  affirmative  side  of 
this  opinion.     A  servant  of  the  people,  in  city  or  state,  who 
is  afield  for  exploitation  rather  than  service  is  not  as  highly 
honored  a  man  as  was  Robert  Walpole,  or  Warren  Hastings, 
or  Aaron  Burr,   as  the  roll-call  of   some  prison  houses  will 
show.     The  disposition  which  democracy  has  just  shown,  at 
the  most  inconvenient  moment,   to  a§k  the  powers  that   be 
whether  they  are  the  powers  that  ought  to  be,  in  Mr.  Lowell's 
phrase,   and  the  answer  to  the  question,  are  the  testimonies 
on  the  affirmative  side  of  that  opinion.     Plain  people,  it  is 
true,  are  not  as  awestruck  at  the  names  of   the   powerful  as 
they  once  were,  but  one  may  note  a  growing  ability  to  render 
awe  where  awe  is  due,  which  is  a  beautiful  growth  in  dis- 
cernment.    In  a    nobler,  truer  light  shine  for  the  people  of 
America  the  names  of  those  upright  souls,  in  business  and 
XL  [7] 


OUR    GOAL 

[)  ":ics,  in  this  Chamber  and  out  of  it,  who  have  held  true  in 
a  heady  time,  who  have  kept  quick  and  human  their  popular 
sympathies  and  their  republican  ideals,  and,  by  so  doing,  have 
kept  sweet  their  country's  fame. 

What  is  the  influence  of  the  schools  and  the  universities, 
the  pubUc  conscience  and  pubHc  opinion,  in  this  ever  new 
remoulding  of  the  national  spirit?  These  schools  and  uni- 
versities have  been  changing  their  form  from  simplicity  to 
power  under  the  pressure  of  this  same  era  of  passionate  strength, 
and  educational  ideals  are  more  often  the  result  of  social  press- 
ure than  social  ideals  are  the  result  of  educational  direction. 
What  are  the  results?  I  claim  this  much  for  the  schools: 
they  are  to-day  more  helpfully  related  to  the  pubhc  hfe  of 
states  and  cities  than  ever  before.  They  are  closer  to  the  needs 
of  that  body  who  are  neither  rich  nor  poor,  and  upon  whom 
rests  the  solution  of  our  problems.  They  are  producing  more 
abundantly  and  scattering  more  widely  the  results  of  their 
production.  They  speak  with  the  authority  of  knowledge. 
The  same  protest  of  our  time  has  therefore  come  out  of  them. 
The  scholarship  in  them,  neither  radical  nor  subservient,  is 
thoroughly  permeated  with  a  sense  of  public  spirit  and  in- 
formed with  a  note  of  hopefulness  and  seriousness  and  old- 
fashioned  behef  in  the  mission  of  the  republic.  To  be  sure, 
this  scholarship  is  not  mere  goodness,  for  untrained  good- 
ness does  not  count  for  much  in  this  world,  whatever  may  be 
its  felicities  in  the  next;  but  it  is  scholarship  that  cannot  be 
frightened,  because  it  is  capable,  and  cannot  be  corrupted, 
because  it  is  fortified  with  faith  and  ideals ;  and  it  is  unweakened 
by  cynicism  or  despair,  because  it  is  made  possible  by  the 
beneficence  of  the  individual  and  the  capacity  of  states.  There- 
fore, I  reckon,  as  Mr.  Bryce  did,  that  the  most  helpful  aspect 
of  the  republic  is  the  spectacle  of  the  schools  and  colleges 
struggling  to  fashion  the  right  sort  of  an  American,  tempting 
the  rich  to  service,  conveying  to  states  the  idea  of  civic  duty, 
preserving  the  great  popular  heart  from  envy  and  hatred, 
and  estabhshing  a  standard  where  men  may  repair  and  make 
a  stand  for  the  eternal  values. 

XL  [8] 


OUR    GOAL 


"""EDUCATION  AND  DEMOCRACY"  ^ 


BY 

GEORGE  HARRIS 

The  objects  and  methods  of  education  engage  the  atten- 
tion of  thinking  people  at  the  present  time  as  never  before. 
This  great  interest  was  left,  until  lately,  to  professional  edu- 
cators, while  the  people  were  comparatively  indifferent,  but 
now  it  is  a  theme  of  discuss'on  in  magazines  and  newspapers, 
on  the  platform  and  in  coxiversation.  All  the  way  through, 
from  kindergarten  to  professional  school,  the  aims  of  educa- 
tion are  undergoing  severe  scrutiny.  The  college  does  not 
escape,  but  is  required  to  give  an  account  of  itself  in  justifica- 
tion of  its  achievements  and  in  ready  adaptation  to  the  instruc- 
tion of  all  who  are  entitled  to  the  advantages  of  Hberal  culture. 
The  decisive  question  is  the  question  of  fitness,  which  the 
college  as  truly  as  the  grammar  school  must  answer.  Fitness 
for  what?  Education  is  a  means  to  an  end.  What  end? 
Since,  directly  or  indirectly,  the  people  are  taxed  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  college,  since  the  college  is  a  public  institution,  a 
liberal  education  should  prepare  men  for  service  in  society, 
for  citizenship  in  the  free  state.  The  subject,  therefore,  to 
which,  without  further  preface,  I  invite  your  attention  is  ''The 
Man  of  Letters  in  a  Democracy."  The  function  of  culti- 
vated men  in  the  modern  state  determines  the  aims  and  methods 
of  their  education.  Every  question  of  the  college  concerning 
choice  of  studies,  modes  of  instruction,  physical  cuhure,  and 
religious  life  must  be  answered  in  view  of  the  function  of  the 
man  of  letters  in  a  democracy.  He  is  not  always  successful 
in  finding  his  place,  nor,  indeed,  in  finding  any  place  among 
the  people.  Yet  no  man  is  capable  of  rendering  greater  ser- 
XL  [9] 


OUR    GOAL 

vice,    and   therefore   of   sustaining   greater   obligation   to   the 
state,  than  the  man  of  letters. 

A  few  axioms,  briefly  stated,  define  democracy.  It  is 
more  than  a  form  of  government,  since  it  exists  under  various 
forms  of  government.  The  function  of  the  citizen  involves 
more  than  voting  and  holding  office,  although  these  duties 
are  important.  Every  value  of  life  is  included  in  the  state, 
or,  better,  all  values  are  co-ordinated  in  the  state.  For  democ- 
racy maintains  and  assures  two  things,  freedom  and  justice. 
To  every  man  his  right — that  is  justice.  It  also  is  freedom. 
Every  man,  therefore,  must  defend  the  right  of  every  other 
man,  must  see  to  it  that  his  own  objects  do  not  conflict  with 
the  righteous  and  rightful  objects  of  others,  for  thus  only  can 
all  have  freedom  with  justice.  The  right  of  every  man  is  this: 
that  he  should  make  the  most  and  best  of  himself,  that  he 
should  possess  and  enjoy  all  the  values  he  is  able  to  possess  and 
enjoy.  Hence  the  material,  intellectual,  domestic,  aesthetic,  moral, 
and  religious  values  are  included  and  are  protected  in  democ- 
racy which  insures  justice  and  freedom  to  all  and  to  each. 
The  attainment  of  one  man  is  more  largely  in  this  direction, 
of  another  in  that,  but  the  state  guarantees  the  right  of  every 
man  in  that  freedom  which  regards  the  right  of  others  to  possess 
and  enjoy  all  the  legitimate  values  of  life.  Democracy  is 
the  true  individuahsm,  for  it  regards  every  person  as  an  end, 
never  as  a  means  or  a  tool.  It  makes  for  the  well-being  of 
each,  and  therefore  guards  every  institution,  the  family,  the 
school,  the  church, — protects  every  pursuit  that  creates  values, 
from  the  material  to  the  spiritual;  in  a  word,  is  itself  the  insti- 
tute of  justice  and  so  of  the  freedom  that  is  grounded  in  justice. 
Democracy  is  the  true  socialism,  which  is  not  paternalism, 
but  is  self-government  by  which  free  individuals  so  regulate 
society — that  is,  regulate  themselves — that  each  may  have  the 
utmost  freedom  that  is  compatible  with  the  freedom  of  other 
individuals  in  attaining  the  values  of  personal  and  social  life. 
These  axioms,  put  concretely,  mean  bread  winning  and  bread 
eating,  that  is,  just  economic  conditions.  They  mean  home 
and  friendship,  they  mean  science  and  art,  they  mean  free 
religion,  they  mean  the  things  the  state  does  as  a  state — laws, 
XL  [lo] 


OUR    GOAL 

rules,  courts,  tariffs,  taxes,  expansion  or  limitation  of  terri- 
tory. In  all  these  things,  democracy  protects  and  even  helps 
every  man  in  coming  to  his  own. 

This  is  no  other  than  the  religious  conception  of  society, 
or  at  least  is  largely  included  in  the  religious  conception.  It 
is  not  too  much  nor  too  little  to  say  that  Jesus  came  preaching 
and  founding  democracy— the  true  individualism  and  the  true 
socialism— in  which  every  human  institution,  interest,  and  ideal 
has  its  rightful  place.  He  called  it  the  kingdom  of  God,  which 
is  God's  purpose  for  humanity  seen  in  the  moral  order  of  his- 
tory as  it  has  evolved,  seen  in  the  Christian  ideal  of  personal 
worth  and  mutual  service,  seen  in  the  kingdom  of  God  on 
earth  in  which  we  are  brothers  one  of  another.  Define  the 
true  democracy,  then  define  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth; 
and  you  will  find  you  have  simply  given  two  titles  to  the  same 
thing.  Find  me  the  man  who  is  making  the  most  and  the  best 
of  himself  in  such  ways  that  others  may  do  the  same  and  you 
have  found  me  the  modern  saint. 

I  need  not  say  that  democracy  has  not  yet  in  any  state 
fully  secured  its  object,  but  the  social  ideal  of  democracy  is 
the  divine  order  of  humanity,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  every  one 
to  promote  that  ideal;  by  criticism,  by  reform,  by  eternal 
vigilance;  by  intelhgent  voting,  by  active  influence,  by  fra- 
ternity; above  all  and  through  all,  by  acting  his  own  part  as 
the  righteous  citizen  in  the  free  state,  making  the  most  and  the 
best  of  himself,  making  his  pursuit  contribute  to  the  common 
weal  and  thus  converting  the  actual  into  the  ideal  repubhc. 
Surely  modern  democracy,  if  this  view  of  it  is  correct,  is  roomy 
enough  even  for  the  man  of  letters— especially  for  the  man 

of  letters. 

Three  attitudes,  now,  may  be  taken  toward  the  democracy 
in  which  we  have  our  habitation.  One  attitude  is  withdrawal. 
One  may  insulate  one's  self  from  vital  concern  in  the  actual 
life  of  the  people.  Having  an  assured  income  provided  by 
others,  a  man  may  devote  himself  to  pleasure,  to  travel,  to 
literary  culture,  putting  himself  practically  out  of  relation  t(^ 
the  world  of  human  struggle  and  attainment.  Religiously 
this  was  the  monastic  life  of  the  Middle  Ages-out  in  the  wilder- 
XL  [ii] 


OUR    GOAL 

ness,  out  of  the  world.  The  gentleman  of  leisure  leading  a 
luxurious  life  is  the  secular  monk.  The  literary  dilettante 
is  the  intellectual  or  aesthetic  monk.  The  pietist  who  would 
save  his  soul  by  not  doing  certain  things  is  the  modern  reh- 
gious  monk. 

The  second  attitude  is  the  parasitic,  or,  even  more  strongly, 
the  piratical.  One  may  go  into  the  democracy  for  what  one 
can  get  out  of  it  for  one's  self,  looking  on  the  existing  order 
as  an  arrangement  out  of  which  something  can  be  had  for  one's 
own  comfort  or  pleasure.  Such  a  one  would  exploit  democ- 
racy for  his  own  benefit  and  pay  as  light  a  tax  as  possible. 
The  generations  and  contemporaries  have  established  a  society 
holding  certain  values,  and  the  exploiter,  like  a  thief  in  the 
night,  breaks  through  and  steals.  The  State  saves  him  the 
trouble  of  maintaining  a  band  of  armed  retainers.  Laws  and 
courts  are  good,  for  they  protect  him  in  his  thieving.  The 
army  is  at  his  back  that  he  may  till  his  vineyard  and  run  his 
mill.  The  one  maxim  of  the  pirate  in  a  democracy  is,  "My 
rights,  your  duties." 

The  third  attitude  is  the  reciprocal.  A  man  looks  out  on 
democracy  and  contributes  to  it,  putting  in  as  much  as  he  takes 
out,  or  more,  paying  his  full  tax,  making  his  pursuit  part  of 
a  whole  which  is  for  good.  He  is  a  Christian  citizen  of  the 
modern  world.  His  maxim  for  at  least  half  of  his  hfe  is, 
''Your  rights,  my  duties." 

The  man  of  letters,  by  whom  I  mean  the  man  that  is  liberally 
educated,  the  cultivated  man,  for  practical  purposes  the  college 
man — although  there  are  men  of  letters  that  never  saw  a  college 
and  college  men  that  are  uneducated — the  man  of  letters  is 
expected  to  take  this  last  attitude  of  contributing  his  part  in 
promoting  the  ends  of  democracy,  putting  in  as  much  as  he 
takes  out.  He  has  been  loudly  accused  of  taking  the  first 
attitude,  of  insulating  himself  from  public  affairs,  or  at  best 
of  holding  aloof  as  an  impractical  critic  of  the  order  of  things, 
of  standing  on  the  shore  declaring  with  many  gesticulations 
how  the  ship  of  state  should  be  sailed,  but  never  handling  a 
tiller  or  pulhng  a  rope.  There  has  been  enough  of  this  to 
bring  reproach  on  academic  discussion  of  affairs.  By  aca- 
XL  [  12  J 


OUR   GOAL 

demic  discussion  of  politics,  for  example,  is  meant  theo- 
retical, impractical,  doctrinaire.  But  there  is  an  important 
and  indispensable  part  for  the  man  of  talent  and  educa- 
tion to  play.  I  do  not  say  that  his  part  is  more  essen- 
tial than  that  of  the  average  working  man,  for  all  parts  are 
necessary  in  the  social  organism.  The  eye  cannot  say  to  the 
hand,  "I  have  no  need  of  thee."  But  also  the  hand  cannot 
say  to  the  eye,  "I  have  no  need  of  thee,"  The  state  needs 
citizens  of  intellectual  ability,  of  character,  and  of  high  standards, 
for  leaders,  rulers,  and  teachers,  and  has  a  right  to  look  to  the 
college  for  them.  The  college  is  an  integral  part  of  the  system 
of  education  maintained  by  the  state,  and  therefore  the  state 
has  claims  upon  college-bred  men.  It  is  of  little  consequence 
whether  colleges  are  established  directly  by  the  state  or  are 
privately  endowed.  In  the  latter  case,  the  state  grants  im- 
munities and  exemptions  and  refrains  from  maintaining  col- 
leges and  universities  of  its  own.  By  cherishing  higher  educa- 
tional interests,  the  state  signifies  its  need  of  cultivated  men 
in  the  professions,  in  business,  in  legislation.  By  a  process 
of  selection,  young  men  of  promise  and  ambition  continue 
their  education  for  several  years  that  they  may  render  service 
of  a  higher  order  than  manual  labor — the  service  of  leadership, 
which  is  as  much  needed  as  manual  labor,  without  which 
manual  labor  is  inefficient.  That  is  to  say,  the  state  expends 
on  a  selected  class  a  thorough  training  that  they  may  be  fitted 
for  highest  service  to  the  state,  whether  they  hold  political 
office  or  not.     And  this  class  is  the  real  aristocracy. 

We  have  outgrown  the  crude  notion  that  democracy  is 
equality  and  that  it  has  no  use  for  an  aristocracy.  Some  belated 
doctrinaires  are  still  proposing  schemes  for  equalizing  the  con- 
dition of  men,  and  so  for  equalizing  men.  But  it  is  not  the 
probler"  of  democracy  to  raise  all  men  up  nor  to  draw  all  men 
down  to  a  common  level.  Its  problem  is  to  place  its  best  men 
in  its  highest  places,  to  put  power  in  the  hands  of  the  wisest 
and  most  capable  persons,  to  recognize  superiority,  always  to 
put  the  right  man  in  the  right  place.  For  the  aristocracy  of 
birth  it  has  no  great  regard,  although  it  does  not  forget  that 
blood  tells.     For  the  vulgar  aristocracy  of  wealth  it  has  supreme 

XL  [13] 


OUR   GOAL 

contempt.  To  the  accident  of  rank  and  title  it  is  indifferent. 
But  it  recognizes  the  aristocracy  of  merit,  knowledge,  character. 
Democracy  would  replace  the  aristocracy  of  birth  by  the  aris- 
tocracy of  worth;  would  set  aside  the  aristocracy  that  buys 
place  with  gold  for  that  which  earns  place  by  capability  and 
distinguished  service.  Democracy  needs  nothing  so  much  as 
it  needs  such  an  aristocracy.  Otherwise  it  is  a  mob,  a  crowd, 
a  horde,  a  mass  of  unorganized  and  disorganized  units.  The 
very  word  "aristocracy"  means  the  rule  of  the  best,  the  best 
men  in  power.  If  the  best  men  have  guidance  and  control, 
progress  is  constantly  made.  If  they  are  set  asi^ft  in  favor  of 
the  incompetent,  there  is  confusion  and  every  evil  -^nmi./.  There 
are  enough  capable  men  in  the  United  States  to  fii^c  b  rf Positions 
of  trust  and  honor,  to  be  a  poHtical,  economic,  4litellectual 
aristocracy.  Put  them  in  their  rightful  places,  let  the  aristocracy 
of  merit  be  enthroned  as  well  as  acknowledged,  and  there 
will  be  that  government,  that  national  welfare,  that  pros- 
perity which  constitute  social  well-being  and  insure  progress. 
So  the  state  does  not  regard  all  citizens  as  equal  and  draw 
rulers  and  leaders  by  lot,  but  wants  true,  wise,  able,  educated 
men  for  guidance,  organization,  and  service.  Therefore  in  a 
democracy  there  must  be  higher  education  for  the  few  who 
are  fit  by  nature  and  may  become  fitter  by  training  for  leader- 
ship. Professor  Paulsen,  tracing  the  educational  ideal  of  the 
future,  says  that  "The  society  corresponding  to  that  ideal 
would  be  that  of  an  aristocracy  of  mind,"  and  asks,  "is  this  the 
type  toward  which  we  are  leaning?  Is  the  aristocracy  of  birth 
and  wealth  to  be  supplanted  by  the  aristocracy  of  personal 
worth  and  merit?"  "This,"  he  says,  "has  been  the  philoso- 
pher's dream  from  the  day  of  Plato's  republic  to  the  present 
hour.  It  is  the  tendency  of  nature.  It  would  be  the  aris- 
tocracy of  nature  to  have  every  individual  stand  independently 
upon  his  own  personal  merit,  and  not  upon  the  achievements 
of  his  father,  while  the  influence  of  heredity,  in  the  sense  of 
the  transmission  of  personal  characteristics,  would  not  be 
diminished.  This  is  the  aristocracy  to  which  historical  de- 
velopment seems  to  point.  Both  church  and  state  have 
made  considerable  advancement  toward  the  realization  of  this 
XL  [14] 


OUR    GOAL 

ideal  of  a  personal  elite^  by  bestowing  position  and  influence 
according  to  the  degree  of  personal  talent  and  efficiency  with- 
out regard  to  birth  and  position." 

Education  makes  this  ideal  definite.  The  educated  man 
is  aware  of  the  personal  and  social  ideal  of  democracy,  and  can 
direct  his  energies  intelligently  toward  its  realization  in  the 
sphere  of  his  own  action.  The  movements  of  our  time  affect 
many  who  do  not  understand  them.  Not  until  changes  have 
occurred  do  the  uneducated  discern  them.  Anybody  can  com- 
pare the  close  with  the  middle  of  the  century  and  perceive 
advance  in  means  of  locomotion  and  communication — even 
in  edu*-  politics,  and  religion.    Many  who  do  not  under- 

stand .nificance  of  great  movements  are  borne  along  by 

them  to  vxicir  own  material,  intellectual,  and  moral  advantage. 
But  educated  men  perceive  tendencies  in  the  making  and 
foresee  results  not  yet  attained.  To  be  sure,  no  one  can  read 
the  future  as  one  reads  the  past,  for  God's  purposes  in  humanity 
are  partly  disclosed,  partly  concealed.  Yet  there  is  a  direction 
of  the  path  of  progress  out  of  the  present  into  the  future,  a 
direction  tolerably  plain  to  one  who  knows  the  past  and  knows 
men.  All  liberal  studies  are  for  the  one  purpose  of  showing 
the  ideal — the  personal  and  social  ideal — not  only  that  it  may 
be  perceived  but  that  there  may  be  direction  toward  it  in 
new  and  changing  conditions. 


XL  [15 


I 


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